Chapter 1
The Invitation

It had started out as a joke, a bit of cruel amusement for Lucius Malfoy and his cronies at Arthur Weasley's expense: Ginny Weasley at the Daughter's of Hecate Debutante Ball.
It should have ended in a laugh at her father's mortification, a story to tell and chortle over at dinner parties in the weeks to come. Somehow though, things had gone terribly wrong. Against all expectation Arthur had vowed that his daughter would come, and the joke had changed from how humiliating it was that he couldn't give his daughter a proper debut, to how pathetic it was that he would even try.

Narcissa wasn't quite sure when it had stopped being funny. Sure, Arthur Weasley was a Pureblood descended from a long line of Muggle-loving trash, but Molly was a Rookwood, and Molly's mother, a Black- and that counted for something in Mrs. Malfoy's mind. Perhaps that was the reason that she had only been able to turn her lips up politely as her husband recounted his tale. Perhaps it was because she remembered her own coming-out so fondly, and wouldn't want the memory ruined for any girl, no matter how low.

Perhaps it was the look in Draco's eyes.

Narcissa had suspected something for a while. She didn't have much to go on- simply a mother's intuition, but Draco seemed less and less inclined to join in his father's belittlement and insults to the Weasleys, and more and more likely to look at his hands as he spoke of the red-headed clan, folding and unfolding his long fingers nervously and, playing with his rings.

She noticed that he had one too few.

Narcissa couldn't say precisely what she made of her suspicions. She only knew that when her son came into the sitting room one Saturday afternoon, she somehow hadn't been surprised.

"You have to help her." Draco said, mumbling, in spite of his father's constant reminders to, "Speak up, damn it all, and enunciate properly!".

"Her?" Narcissa's set down her embroidery, regarded her son with suspicion.

"Weasley." He said quietly, refusing to meet her eyes. "Ginny. Please mother. Do it for me."

“Why?” The question was on the tip of Narcissa's tongue, but she knew he wouldn't answer. Draco was like his father in that way, wrapped up in secrets, unknown and unknowable even to himself. It would be futile to probe for information that he wasn't ready to divulge, and possibly harmful, for she had the sense that he had already extended his confidence beyond its normal bounds. She would watch. She could read more in his face than she ever did in his words.

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt to meet the girl.” Narcissa said carefully.

“Send for my owl.”

Draco hurried away, returning a few minutes later with a sleek black bird just as his mother was finishing her note. Her fingers moved slowly, permitting him to read:


Miss Ginevra Weasley,

The pleasure of your company is requested for luncheon on Tuesday, the twenty-fourth of June at the gardens of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. I am very anxious to meet you to discuss your participation in the Daughters of Hecate Debutante Ball.

R.S.V.P. regrets only,

Mrs. Narcissa A.B. Malfoy

Chapter 2
The Snake Pit

Ginny twisted the scrap of paper in her hands, staring fixedly at the elegant, looping script as the voices of her parents drifted up from downstairs.

“Well, I don't like her going, and that's final.” Arthur boomed in an unusually defiant tone.

“It was your idea that she go to the ball begin with.” Molly scolded back.

“Well, I've changed my mind.”

“Changed you mind? Changed you mind?” Mrs. Weasley's voice was warming to the argument, this last phrase voiced in a high, piercing screech. “Now that everyone's been told that she's going to come? After we've…”
“I don't see what lunch with Narcissa Malfoy has to do with it.”

“She's on the committee…”

“The committee…!”

Ginny clenched her eyes shut, trying to tune the voices out. Her parents always spoke as if she wasn't there. They hadn't asked what she wanted. They never did- not that she knew what she would tell them if they did.

Ginny desperately wanted to go to the ball. Since she was a little girl and had discovered the chest of her mother's girlhood belongings hidden in the attic- among them, Molly's own debutante gown, tiara, and dance card- she had imagined herself, clad in a glittering white gown, standing among the other pureblood girls her age. She never dared to hope that it might happen. Her father's acceptance of Malfoy's bait was like a dream come true- or a nightmare.
Unbidden, Ginny's hands moved to the chain hung round her neck, tracing down the slender sliver length to the serpent ring at its end.

Draco. Even the thought of his name sent a pang to her heart and a shiver running up and down her spine. Draco would be at the ball, even if she didn't see him at the luncheon. She would have to see Draco again sometime.

This time, she vowed, things would be different.

-----

It had been October, and she was just settling into sixth year. Quidditch practice had just started, and Ginny loved being out of doors, swooping through the crisp, smoke scented air above the flame-tipped trees.

Classes that year seemed promising. After the constant, frantic study of fifth year O.W.L.S. Ginny's course load, and homework seemed positively relaxed. She picked up an extra elective- advanced Herbology- and was looking forward to an uneventful year.

Ginny's partner in the greenhouse had been an unexpected and, at first, unwelcome surprise: Pansy Parkinson. The youngest Weasley had never had classes with the Slytherin 7th year before, but she had heard enough of the girl's behavior from her 7th year friends. Even if she hadn't, Pansy's association with Draco Malfoy was enough to set off warning bells.

Considering her low expectations, Ginny was skeptical that she would be able to pass the year without killing her partner, much less becoming her friend, but that was precisely what happened. Pansy had a wicked wit and was absolutely shameless in turning her poison-tipped tongue on others. In spite of herself, Ginny had to admit that it was amusing when directed people other than herself. Their tentative truce had been cemented with some particularly scathing cuts at Ravenclaw Cho Chang.

Even though they got along well in class, Ginny hadn't felt comfortable classifying Pansy as a “friend” so she was surprised when the girl had left the Slytherin table early one afternoon and taken a seat beside her own.

“So, Gin.” The blonde began amiably, ignoring the astonished stares from Gryffindors all around. “What are you doing after the Quidditch match tomorrow night?”

Ginny merely shrugged.

“A bunch of us are hanging out.” Pansy said casually. “You should come.”

Ginny had ignored the daggers in her brother's eyes, ignored the quiet concern from Harry Potter, avoided the stern warning from Hermione Granger, and found herself meeting Pansy the next evening beside the lake.

They walked together in silence for a long way, winding down a long path that skirted the Forbidden Forest's edge. Ginny was surprised when they stepped off the path and veered sharply beneath the trees.

“Don't worry.” Pansy reassured her, reading the panic in her friend's eyes.

“It isn't far.”

True to her word, Pansy had only gone a hundred feet when she knelt beside a small rockface and brushed aside a scraggly shrub. A narrow opening was revealed. Tucking her wand into the band of her skirt, Pansy crawled inside.

Hesitantly, Ginny followed, grimacing as her bare knees scraped the ground. Ahead of her, Pansy's body more or less filled the passage, but she had brief glimpses of light at the end of the corridor.

They hadn't gone far when Pansy stopped. She spoke in a muffled tone. “Help me.” She said calmly, but not to Ginny. There was a scuffling, and then a soft thud, and the tunnel ahead of Ginny was suddenly bright, no longer blocked by her friend.

She hurried forward toward the light, and let out a soft cry of surprise as she reached the end. The tube opened up into a wide cavern, fifteen feet high at its zenith, and wide enough to hold what looked like the entire Seventh Year Slytherin class without feeling cramped. Pansy was waiting beside the opening, holding out her hand to help Ginny down the slight drop-off to the ground.

“Welcome to the Snake Pit!” She said with a smile.

Ginny stared around the chamber, astonished by what she saw. A few squashy chairs and sofas were arranged in the center of the room, atop a plush looking rug that covered the floor. A few more tables and seats lined the edges of the space. Various Slytherin Sixth and Seventh years were scattered among them, chatting, drinking and, occasionally, snogging.

“You brought a Gryffindor?” Ginny squinted through the dim light toward a voice that she didn't recognize. The sound echoed through the room, carrying over the tunes of the Weird Sisters which were playing softly on Wizarding Wireless.

Pansy scowled. “Sod off, Pucey.” She barked. “She's my friend.” Indicating with a toss of her head that the detractors should be ignored, Pansy led Ginny to an ice chest and offered her a drink. “Wine, Butterbeer, Firewhiskey…?” Ginny accepted the latter, feeling deliciously sinful to indulge in contraband. “This place is amazing!” She remarked.

Parkinson shrugged. “It's fun sometimes.” Her eyes drifted slowly around the hall, flashing slightly as they lighted on a particular face. “Anyhow, make yourself at home. I'll…uhm…be right back.”

"Pansy!" Ginny hissed. "I don't know anybody, don't leave me!"

The blonde Slytherin stopped, and turned, a smirk teasing at her lips.

"Relax, Gin. What would you rather do, go stare into a pair of green eyes?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You of all people know that I resigned my membership in the Harry Potter fancl--"

“DRINK!”

Ginny blinked as, very near to them, Malcom Baddock pointed at Ginny and began to chant: “Drink! Drink! Drink!”

A large tumbler of something distinctly alcoholic was shoved into Ginny's hand and she stared at it in some confusion as those around her picked up the chant.

"You said He-Who-We-Don't-Want-to-Name's-name," Pansy explained with a wicked gleam in her eye. "Now you have to take a drink."

Ginny hesitated, then brought the cup to her lips and took a tiny swallow.

She lowered it to a chorus of groans and demands that she take a real drink, so she lifted the mug to drink again, then almost choked as someone tipped the bottom of it up and she had to swallow or drown.

Finally she was allowed to lower it and she swiped a hand across her mouth to wipe away the alcohol that had sloshed onto her upper lip. She swayed slightly. "Any other names I should avoid?”

Pansy laid her index finger against her chin and thought for a moment. "Your bushy haired friend, the headmaster, your last name…”

"What's wrong with Weasley?" She asked, without thinking, then groaned as the cry of “Drink! Drink! Drink!” rose again.

"For one thing, she's too stupid to follow directions." Ginny felt ice pool in the pit of her stomach as a pale blonde head peeked over one of the sofas and turned toward her: Draco Malfoy.

Ginny's mind groped for a witty retort, but it was already dulled by the drink.

“Aw, ignore him.” Pansy said miffishly, and Ginny thought she saw a look- cold, yet significant- pass between the pair of housemates. “He's no fun. Let's see what Blaise is up to.”

Linking arms, the two girls moved away.

An hour later, Malfoy was the last thing on Ginny's mind. Her vision was hazy, and her gait unsteady as she wove her way to one of the plush seats in a corner. Fragments of the “Words Not to Be said" drifted through her mind: "Gryffindor" (Gryffinwhore being the preferred pronunciation in the Slytherin Realm), Hagrid, and Lupin were on the list, but there were others too- so many that she rather suspected Pansy and Blaise were changing the rules (not that a Slytherin would ever do anything so underhanded). Nevertheless, Ginny might not have been so thoroughly intoxicated if not for a critical error on her part.

"So..." Pansy had said sweetly. "What words aren't you allowed to say?"

"Gryffindor, Harry Potter, Weasley, Granger, Dum-"

The raucous roar of "Drink! Drink! Drink!" which had immediately ensued had nearly knocked her off her feet, and where shouting failed, Firewhiskey succeeded admirably.
Four drinks more, and Ginny was reeling. Her eyes fixed firmly on the narrow opening through which she had arrived.

She stumbled toward it. “Gotta go to bed.” She said to no one in particular, then tripped over an outstretched leg.

Watching as if in slow motion, she felt her body tumble toward the floor, but at the last minute, a strong arm caught her around the waist. “Gotta go to bed.” She repeated.

"Sure, Weasley, sure. Come this way and you can lay down."

Ginny unleashed a drunken giggle. "Oh! You said We--"

The hand on her waist squeezed tight. "I'll drink in a minute, let's just get you settled down, okay?"

Ginny was propelled toward through a narrow crevice in the rock wall into a second room. This was much smaller and darker, a cot was nestled against a wall.

“Sit down.” The voice commanded. Meekly, she did as she was told.

“Here, drink this.”

“Don't wanna. Didn't say Weasley.” She slurred.

There was a disgusted sigh, and then. “Well, now you have. Bottoms up!”

“You first, you said-“

“Oh, for the love of Merlin! Just drink the damn sobriety potion.” Ungentle hands tugged on her jaw, prying it open, and then a warm, tangy liquid was poured down Ginny's throat. She sputtered, choking on the vile flavor and then her stomach heaved, and she emptied it onto the floor.

There was a muttered curse. “Brilliant, Weaslette”

The disdainful nickname triggered something in Ginny and she looked out, seeking out her companions face for the first time.

Her heat sank. It was Draco Malfoy.

“I'm sorry!” Her voice warbled, and her chocolate eyes pooled with tears. “I'm sorry.”

“Just sit down and shut up.”

She watched mutely as he flicked his wand to remove the vomit, but he was no sooner done than she gagged again.

Ginny doubled over, moaning. She expected Malfoy to stalk away in disgust but was surprised when, instead, he vanished the sick away, then raked his fingers gently through her hair and secured it away from her face. “I can't give you another one for three hours.” Draco murmured and conjured a glass of water. He dipped a handkerchief into it and begin dabbing her face with the cloth, then offered her the rest to drink. “You'll feel better if you down it- hangover won't be quite so bad.”

Ginny blinked. Her head was spinning. She had the vague impression that

Draco was stroking her hair.

She was hallucinating. That was the only explanation. The next morning, when she woke up, she would realize that this had all been an elaborate dream.

She vomited again. This time Draco had anticipated her and supplied a rubbish basket for that purpose.

“Try to miss the shoes, Weaslette.” Malfoy drawled, but in a considerably softer tone than she was used to. “He sat beside her on the cot, the mattress creaking with his added weight.

“Why are you doing this?” Ginny murmured, somehow
managing to draw the water to her lips to rinse out the taste of bile.

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you care.”

"I do care," Draco whispered, and something in his voice made her breath catch in her throat. She looked at him, searching for a hint of what he might actually mean, but it seemed to hover just out of reach. His handsome features- why had she never noticed before how good-looking he was?- were impassive. Only the two gleaming mercury eyes belied his cool façade by radiating concern... And something else she didn't know how to describe.

"Why?" Ginny inquired. She felt dizzy, like she would stumble and fall and never land. Her stomach was restless again, but this time, it wasn't because of the drink.

"Because," he said softly, his tone completely opposite of his actual words as he dabbed her cheek with the handkerchief again. "If you died out here, we'd have to find someplace else to party- and that would be a damn nuisance.”

Chapter 3
Malfoy Manor

It should have ended there. She should have thanked Draco for his help and never spoken to him again- or even should have foregone the “thank you”- it wasn't as if a Slytherin would expect civility anyhow. If only Ginny had been able to listen to her own better judgment none of it would have ever happened.

Of course, she hadn't listened. Like so many Weasley's before her, the prudent course was the least appealing. So it happened that, bright and early June 24th, more than a year later, she found herself walking toward the gates of Malfoy Manor, bound for her luncheon with the Lady of the House.
Ginny was grateful that she had decided to Apparate to Wiltshire instead of flooing. She had only just received her license, and she wasn't confident enough to travel directly to the house (assuming that the Malfoy's protective wards wouldn't prevent such an entry anyhow). In retrospect, however, she was grateful for the short walk from the center of Porton Down to the Manor on the hill beyond. She had time to collect thoughts and to give appearance a bit of final scrutiny.

After hours of agonizing in front of her mother's less than helpful mirror (“You really should cut a fringe, dear. I can hardly see your eyes under that lot of curls!”) she had decided to wear her hair down. It hung in thick, if somewhat unruly waves down her back, contrasting nicely with her Kelley green robes.

Ginny smoothed her skirt with her palms. The outfit wasn't new, but it was well tailored and was easily the most stylish thing she owned. It had been a present from the twins (who had argued, unsuccessfully, that she might prefer a dragonskin suit instead). Buying the robes (new!) in a boutique hidden away in Kensington had, heretofore, been the most glamorous experience of her life. She hoped that they would serve her well for this, her second peek into “how the other half lived.”

Chin up, shoulders back, and wearing a look of fierce determination, Ginny paused at the Manor's gates. In spite of her desire to appear unimpressed by the Malfoy riches, she had to catch her breath as she peered through the iron bars. The grounds went on as far as her eyes could see, comprised of a perfect blend of manicured lawns, walled gardens and surrounded by a suspiciously picturesque wilderness.

Ginny frowned. This wasn't how she had pictured the Malfoy seat at all. In her mind, she had envisioned bare rock and straggling shrubs, bats screeching overhead and, possibly a storm. The simply loveliness was surprising. “But then, why should that be?” She wondered. It ought to match her experience of the Malfoy's perfectly: an ugly picture in a pretty frame.

Forcing the frown from her lips, Ginny reached for the knocker on the gate. Before she could reach it, the heavy barrier swung open of its own accord. She stepped inside. Following a gravel path, she made her way to the house.

An elf was waiting just inside the front door, which opened for her immediately. He was holding a silver tray that, she realized after an embarrassing silence, was meant to receive her card. Having none, she turned her eyes to the elf. “Please tell Mrs. Malfoy that Miss Virginia Weasley has come to call.” She said in her most commanding tone. Then, when the little creature did not move immediately, added, “I was to meet her for lunch.”

“Of course, Miss.” The elf chirped in an almost comically dignified tone, “Mrs. Malfoy is in the garden, please follow me.”

Ginny clung to her resolution of refusing to gawk as they moved through the sprawling house. It was difficult. The furnishings in the entryway alone would have fetched a sum more than twice that for her parent's entire house. She managed her goal for one reason alone. Her attention was distracted by something else- the sickening certainty that Draco was close at hand.

After what seemed like a long walk, they left the house at last, passing through a pair of French doors onto a wide, airy Loggia. From there, they descended into a walled enclosure filled with every shape and color of rose that Ginny could possibly imagine.

The rich perfume of the flowers swirled around her as they made their way to a charming, vine-covered gazebo at the garden's center. A linen-covered table was set beneath it. Behind that, lifting her eyes at Ginny's arrival, was Narcissa Malfoy.

Ginny had seen Draco's mother only once before, at the Quidditch World Cup four summers before. Her impression of the woman was very vague: slender, attractive, blonde. Those words failed to capture the woman who greeted her now.

With a single glance at the older woman's sleek blue gown and perfectly coiffured hair, Ginny felt instantly gauche. Narcissa's features were as perfect as those painted on a china doll, and her skin was just as flawless. Even her posture seemed more effortlessly posh and refined than Miss Weasley could manage with her best efforts. Simply put, Mrs. Malfoy looked like a fairy queen.

“Miss Weasley?” Narcissa asked, her accent employing the same drawling vowels and clipped consonants that her husband favored. “I'm so pleased that you could come.” She smiled faintly, but the look did not reach her velvet blue eyes, both of which were fixed upon the girl appraisingly.

“Thank you very much for the invitation, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm grateful for any guidance you can offer,” Ginny meekly parroted her prepared speech. “I'm very excited about the prospect of attending the ball.”

“No doubt.” The blonde murmured, but with no trace of sarcasm in her voice.

The women stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Narcissa broke it, making a twirling gesture with her hand and saying: “Well, let me have a look at you.”

Feeling extraordinarily self-conscious, Ginny did as Mrs. Malfoy indicated, turning very slowly to permit a thorough scrutiny of her form. She could feel Narcissa's pale blue eyes raking critically over her skin. It was almost as if it were a physical touch.

When she had revolved completely, Ginny stopped, her brown eyes seeking a verdict from her hostess.

“Too plump.” She answered candidly, “But it's mostly in the right places. We have time, in any event. The skin is good, assuming we can do something about the freckles.” She gestured for Ginny to step closer, smiling faintly when the girl instantly obeyed.

“Your hair is darker than your mother's.” Narcissa remarked, in a tone that indicated that this was a good thing. She picked up an auburn lock and twisted it around her finger. “It's striking, actually. You'll want a yellow dress.”

Her lips pressed together in a frown as she considered. “or…no…green.”

She let the curl slide abruptly from her fingers. Ginny noticed that the woman's attention had suddenly directed somewhere else. A smile touched Narcissa's lips- the first real one that Ginny had seen, and then Mrs. Malfoy said. “Ah, Ginevra. I believe you've met my son? He'll be joining us for luncheon this afternoon.”

-----

Narcissa's eyes narrowed shrewdly, capturing the identical looks of horror that flickered briefly on the faces of her guest and her son. “Unless you are uncomfortable with the arrangement?” She added.

Ginny wasn't sure if the question was directed at herself or Draco but she replied with a nervous nod. “Uh, sure.” She mumbled, even as her interior monologue hissed at her. She noticed that Mrs. Malfoy's eyes had lingered and she saw, to her horror that her hand had involuntarily reached to the chain around her neck touching the outline of the ring that hung there beneath her robes. Worried, she jerked her hand away. “That is, I'd be...charmed.” She amended in her poshest diction.

Mrs. Malfoy pursed her lips slightly, giving her face the appearance that Ginny remembered from the World Cup- a look like she had something smelly under her nose, but the expression evaporated as she turned to her son and gestured that both he, and Ginny should take a seat.

“Draco, darling.” She practically purred to her son, “This is Miss Ginevra Weasley- you know the Weasley's, “the insinuation in her tone was too faint to justify reaction. Accordingly, Ginny stared fixedly at her napkin. “Ginny's debbing at the ball. Isn't that excellent news?”

“Of course, mother.” Draco replied, evenly. Ginny had the urge to raise her eyes, but stifled the impulse with her sense of absolute certainty that his serene gray eyes were fixed directly on her face.

Narcissa waited a moment, as if expecting an additional response. When none was forthcoming, she chatted on. The pleasant enthusiasm in her voice was an obvious attempt to diffuse the awkwardness that had settled around the table. “I believe Draco was the year ahead of you at school, Miss Weasley? Didn't you attend with one of her brothers, darling? A...Donald, was it? Robert?”

“Ron.” Draco answered flatly. He was still staring. She could feel it.

“Ah, yes. Ron.” A note of curiosity had crept into Narcissa's voice. She reached forward for a bone china teapot and began to pour as she continued, “Draco's been working in London, haven't you, dearest? With our Agent. He's been ever so helpful in straightening out the Black accounts. Things got so muddled while my cousin was away.”

Ginny was forced to admire how Narcissa euphemized Sirius Black's incarceration in Azkaban. To hear her speak, he might have been on extended holiday those many years. “He's been such a help; invaluable really. Lucius and I are so proud. We-”

“Mother...” Draco truncated the expression of motherly pride. “I'm sure that Miss Weasley isn't interested.”

Miss Weasley. He made it sound so cold! At last Ginny succumbed to temptation, and let her eyes drift up.

She was right. He was staring. Actually, glowering was, perhaps, more apt. His irises were like gray clouds radiating with all the intensity of a building storm.

“Of course she's interested, Draco.” Narcissa answered for Ginny, but nevertheless changed the topic of conversation.
Ginny was only vaguely aware that lunch was being served.

She picked at her salmon salad as Narcissa took up the conversation again. She was saying something about preparations for the Ball. It was, apparently, being held at the Manor itself....florists...caterers.....As she had feared, Ginny couldn't tear her eyes away and was gazing back at Draco surely as if he had placed her under a trance.

“Don't you think so, Miss Weasley?”

Ginny had the impression that this was not the first time that Narcissa had voiced the question, and she blinked rapidly, pulling herself back to consciousness. “I-er, of course.” She replied, then flushed. “That is, uhm...what did you ask?”

“I asked if you thought the girls would prefer replacing the first waltz with a quadrille.” Narcissa repeated patiently. “It might make things a bit looser to start the evening off.”

“I, uhm...” Ginny was only vaguely aware that the waltz and quadrille were both dances and, mired as it was in thoughts of Draco, her mind couldn't begin to formulate and answer to the dilemma regarding which dance might be better suited for the beginning of the ball. She couldn't help it. Instinctively, her eyes sought Draco's looking for a guide. He did not provide an answer, however, but merely continued to watch her with a level gaze.

“I say!” Narcissa added, a bit sharply. “Is there something going on that I should be aware of? You know, staring really isn't polite.”

The remark was ostensibly directed at Draco, but Ginny knew that it was equally applicable to her. Flushing, she dragged her eyes from his once more and mustered her resolve to ignore him for the rest of the meal. She could not afford to be in Mrs. Malfoy's bad graces. It was astonishing enough that she would extend her charity to a Weasley as it was. She would not let Draco ruin this.

He had ruined too much already.

Chapter 4
Breakfast


She thought she might have loved him. Maybe she did for a while. Maybe she still did, even if she wouldn't admit it. Ginny wasn't sure when it happened, only that it started that night in the Snake Pit.

She had never imagined Draco Malfoy making an effort to help anyone other than himself. She'd never imagined him capable of gentleness or kindness. She'd never imagined him capable of caring. Regardless of his snarky insistence to the contrary, she was sure that he really had. He'd stayed with her until she'd stopped being sick, and then he'd administered the sobriety potion again.

She could only remember the night in flashes: a cool cloth against her forehead, long fingers stroking her hair, the rich, spicy scent of Draco's cologne.

Somehow she had made it back to Gryffindor tower that night. Well, almost to Gryffindor tower. She'd fallen asleep almost as soon as the potion took effect, and whichever Slytherins had carried her home had, not knowing the password, abandoned her outside the fat lady's portrait on the hallway floor. She had awoken the next morning cold, sore, and with Neville Longbottom's foot planted squarely in the middle of her stomach.

“Ooch! Sorry, Gin!” His round face flushed instantly as he automatically placed the blame for the incident on his own curse of clumsiness, rather than wondering why Ginny was on the floor to begin with. “Didn't see you there. On your way to breakfast?”

She wanted to say “No.” but Longbottom's appearance was followed, in rapid succession, by her older brother, Ron, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger. Any attempts to explain that food was the last thing on her mind- that she really wanted to crawl into her soft, warm bed- would have lead to uncomfortable questions about how she had spent the night before. So, she had gone.

She had just settled into her usual seat at the Gryffindor table when she saw him…

-----

He was staring at her, or rather through her. His pale grey eyes were burning against her skin with all the focus and intensity of a stunning spell, and with nearly the same effect.

She felt heat spreading through her chest, moving upwards to her face. The look on his face was cold and impassive, but it mingled in her mind with memories of the night before- of the glimmer of warmth that had flickered in those eyes like candlelight reflected in silver, and the tender insistence of his touch.

Had Draco brought her home? A thrill ran along her spine at the thought. In addition to the trouble it would have taken, he would run a terrible risk of being discovered by the other Gryffindors. They would never believe that Draco Malfoy might have a benevolent motive, and would quickly avenge what they presumed to be a nefarious one.

She needed know.

Soon.

Breakfast passed with excruciating slowness. Even if she had been hungry, she wouldn't have been able to eat under Draco's scrutiny. Ginny poked a rasher of bacon around her face with her fork, glancing up at odd intervals to find his face- to see that he was still staring. Finally, when he stood to leave, she jumped to her feet.

He was tall- she had never really noticed his height, and his long legs made it difficult to keep pace. Luckily Crabbe, one of his omnipresent goons, stopped to talk to another Slytherin girl, and so she reached him just outside the door to the great hall.

“Draco!”

Ginny watched the secession of emotions on his face: annoyance as he ground to a halt, surprise as he identified her, and then something unreadable. Finally, as she was just about to speak, he glanced behind her, and his features hardened.

“Thank you for last night, Draco.” She said, rather
breathlessly. The flush in her cheeks deepened as Goyle snickered. “For the sobriety potion, I mean.” She added quickly, frowning at Draco's oafish toady. “I don't know how I would have gotten back to the tower without it.”

Draco shrugged.

“I ended up sleeping on the floor.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but Draco merely smirked.

“Must have felt right at home, eh, Weasley? Or can your family not afford floors?”

On cue, Crabbe and Goyle both grunted laughter, but quailed and fell silent instantly when Draco shot them a glare. “Aren't you two supposed to be working on my Charms essay?” He spat.

Their squat, vacant faces twisted into a look she assumed was meant to convey surprise. Tripping awkwardly over their feet, they retreated- presumably to the dungeons to work.

Ginny waited until their bulky forms had disappeared before speaking. “You copy Charms from Crabbe and Goyle?” She asked, unable to control her astonishment.

At this, the edge of his lips quirked upwards. “We don't have a Charms essay due.” He admitted, but it will keep them busy, won't it?”

She wanted to smile. A grin was tickling her face like a sneeze that she was trying to contain, but she managed to suppress it, and offer a look of confusion instead. Her eyes hovered around his shoulders as she was torn between the desire to drink in the face and eyes that had suddenly captured her fancy, with the need to avoid the haughty sneer she was sure would mar his face. Was he angry? Happy? Friendly? Defensive? What was he getting at? Things had been easier when she thought of Draco in black and white.

“So.” She wanted to say something poignant, but it was all she could manage in the end. She looked down at her feet, shifting her weight from side to side. “I guess that's all that I wanted to say.”

Draco made an indistinct grunt of acknowledgment, and she could tell, without looking up, that he was staring again.

Feeling awkward in the silence, she turned to go, but stopped when Draco spoke again.

“You should be careful, Weaslette.” He said quickly. Two days earlier she would have scoffed- dismissing the words as a threat. “Getting drunk around strangers isn't safe for a girl like you.”

“Like me?” she questioned, tempting fate.

Draco didn't offer to elaborate, and Ginny decided not to press her luck.

“See you around, Weaslette.” Draco said, and this time he was the one moving away.

“Yeah, see you around Malfoy.”

He took a step. Paused, then turned around.

“Saturday.” He said levelly, meeting her eyes for the first time.

“Saturday?” Ginny echoed, and even though she knew it was crazy- it sounded like a date.

Chapter 5
The Date

Ginny spent the beginning of the week in a warm haze. She wasn't sure when she had first decided that Malfoy wasn't a completely obnoxious git or rather, when she had decided that maybe he was, but it didn't bother her. Nevertheless, her feelings had definitely changed.

She hadn't spoken to Draco all week. Their contact was limited to brief glances in the hall, or stolen looks in the Great Hall over meals, but every once in a while she would catch his eyes, and sometime earn a smile to let her know that Saturday night was definitely still on.

Her attention was so focused on Saturday night, that she barely noticed it at breakfast Tuesday morning when a handsome brown owl swooped down with the morning post and deposited a heavy vellum envelope into her lap. Her eyes were trained on the doors to the Hall, waiting for Draco to arrive. Without looking, she shuffled it into the small pile of notes from her brothers and mum.

“Oooh! What's that one, Ginny?” Hermione asked, leaning over to get a better look.

Ginny frowned. “What's what?”

“Your letter!” Hermione reached over the youngest Weasley and retrieved the item from the pile. “Beautiful paper.” She commented. “Looks expensive.”

The word “Expensive” caught her attention at last. Ginny plucked the letter from Hermione's fingers and turned it over in her hands.

The parchment envelope was translucent with a silky finished, and it was sealed with golden wax. Ginny ran her fingers over the embossed image. “I don't recognize the crest.” She said with a hint of disappointment.

“Open it!” Hermione begged.

Acting carefully to preserve the pretty stationary, Ginny broke the seal and removed a heavy rectangle of cardstock. “It's an invitation!” She said in surprise. Then, opening it, she read:

Mr. and Mrs. Smidley Wandsworth Parkinson request the honour of your presence at a celebration in honor of their daughter

Pansy Camellia Hyacinth Rose

on the occasion of her 18th birthday Saturday, the eleventh of December at eight o'clock in the evening

The Glass Slipper, Diagon Alley, London

“Wow! The Slipper!” Hermione said, after a moment of silence. “Seems a bit of a waste on Parkinson.”

Ginny frowned, but didn't otherwise react to the slur against her friend. Her mind was already racing with thoughts about the party.

The Glass Slipper was one of the oldest, and easily the most exclusive restaurant in Wizarding London. Accordingly, it was also the most expensive, so Ginny knew of it only by reputation. Still- what a reputation it had! Witch Weekly was always full of pictures of the latest celebrity wizards and their leggy dates wandering in and out of its oak-paneled doors.

Over the past months, Ginny had suffered numerous pangs of jealousy unintentionally administered at the hand of her Slytherin friend, but she had never felt it so acutely as when she read the invitation to the Parkinson's party. She could already picture the scene in her mind: the hushed luxury of the restaurant, its stillness broken only by the clink of silver on china, the deep plush chairs, and the flicker of candlelight glinting through leaded crystal. She imagined herself in Pansy's place, swathed in white organza, waiting at the head of a flower-covered table to greet her friends.

Pansy would be a debutante next summer, she presumed. It was a tradition among Pureblood girls that, prior to their debuts, they were presented to family friends at a formal party, and she assumed that the birthday celebration held this purpose. The Weasley's were poor, but still related to enough pure blood families that Ginny had attended her share of parties, though never really as a guest. It wasn't fitting for a girl her age to mix among the grown-ups. Typically she was consigned, along with her younger cousins, to the kitchens or the nursery, and permitted to watch the gatherings only from afar. Still, she had seen enough to fill her daydreams for years to come as she waited for the day that it would be her turn.

Now that she was older Ginny understood, with the grim certainty of a girl who had always poor, that her turn would never come. Because of the month that her birthday fell, next summer would, technically, be her deb year too, though she didn't have any expectations of a season like Pansy would. Her parents would try, as best they could, to make her 18th birthday special. There would be a dinner at the house. Molly, and Ginny's aunts would slave for days to turn out a delicious meal, and the Burrow would look its best, she might even get new robes for the occasion, but it simply wouldn't be the same. Like so many other things in her life, she would have to learn to settle for second best.

Sighing, Ginny tucked the envelope into her bag. At least she still had Saturday night to look forward to.

Even though time seemed intent on moving as slowly as possible, the weekend finally arrived. Ginny had barely seen Pansy during the week. Saturday morning Neville Longbottom passed on a note telling her to meet the Slytherin girl outside the owlery.

Ginny smiled. Outside. That meant the Snake Pit. The Snake Pit meant dim, enclosed spaces. Dim enclosed spaces meant...

Snap out of it, Ginny! She ordered herself. She knew that she was probably reading too much into Draco's words outside the Great Hall on Monday. Maybe he wasn't interested in her that way at all. Still, he was damn cute, and she'd been cheated out of too many fantasies this week already. She'd let herself indulge for a while.

Ginny took extra care with her grooming that evening, using Hermione's Password to sneak into the Prefect's bathroom for a long, perfumed soak, and then spending a ridiculous amount of time on her hair. She twisted the copper locks into a casual knot on top of her head, then let a few loose tendrils fall around her shoulders. She was uncertain about what to wear. Robes seemed too formal(and all of her favorites were embarrassingly threadbare anyway), and pants weren't feminine enough to match her hair. She needed a skirt- but nothing too Muggle. Rooting through her drawers, she found a pleated uniform skirt that Had never been worn. Molly had been ecstatic to discover it, sitting in the second-hand bin with the tags from Madame Malkin's still affixed. After taking it home, however, they had discovered the reason for the bargain. It was slightly irregular. The hem was too short, and the waistband pinched. It wasn't practical for school, but for tonight, it might be manageable.

Pulling the skirt up over her hips, Ginny yanked the zip as high as it would go, and then wound a piece of yarn around the button, tying it through the button hole to hold it closed. It looked stable. If she wore a long top, no one would be the wiser.

The shortened hem was less of a problem. Even though Ginny's legs had lengthened since her mother bought the skirt, she wasn't adverse to the way that the flirty pleats showed them off. The only question was whether her knickers would show.

After a few careful manipulations in front of the mirror, she convinced herself that wasn't the case.

The finishing touch was a clingy jumper. It was green with a dragon on the front. It had been Harry's once, if she recalled correctly, but Draco need never know. The lines which had been bulky on an eleven year old boy clung to her burgeoning breasts deliciously.

“I don't think that your mother would like that very much, dear.” The mirror chastised gently.

Ginny's lips curled in pleasure. She could imagine no better confirmation that she had achieved the desired effect.

By the time Ginny had finished adjusting her clothes, she was five minutes late for meeting Pansy. She flew down the steps from Gryffindor tower, tore through the corridors and finally sprinted out the front door to head toward the owlery.

As she had suspected, Pansy was already waiting, buffing her nails and looking bored. Her expression changed when she looked at Ginny. “Well, well, this is certainly a change."

Ginny stopped as Pansy's mocking, if friendly, voice reached her ears. "Let me look you over."

Suddenly unsure of her decision about what to wear, Ginny was slow to comply. Finally, with coaxing, she completed a small turn.

“Interesting.” Pansy pronounced at last.

“Interesting?” Ginny's stomach twisted. “`Interesting good' or `interesting weird'?”

“Interesting `I'm-wondering-who-you're-trying-to-put-the-moves-on', Weasley.” Pansy said. “It's twenty degrees out here. Either you want to treat somebody to an eyeful of leg, consequences be damned, or you like having pneumonia.”

Ginny shrugged. “Hey, whatever's clean.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, but didn't question further. Ginny, however, found it hard to hide her confusion. Hadn't Draco told Pansy anything about the `date'? She trailed behind the other girl, chewing her lip nervously. What if he hadn't meant anything other than that they'd see each other in the Snake Pit? Maybe she shouldn't go up to him right away. Maybe she should try talking to someone else- Blaise or Nott- and see what happened then.

Her thoughts were cut off by the appearance of the object of them, looking edible in charcoal trousers, a black cashmere jumper, and a Slytherin- crested cloak. He was leaning against a wall looking like a lazy predator. "Sorry, Pansy, but I'm going to have to steal your pet Gryffie."

Pansy snickered. "Sorry, he's waiting to meet me in an hour down at the greenhouses. I'll let him know you care, though."

Draco screwed up his face in disgust, obviously still trying to cope with the idea of Pansy Parkinson and Neville Longbottom. “Nice, Pans.” He said tensely. His expression softened somewhat, however, as he turned to Ginny.

Ginny suddenly knew how a glass of pumpkin juice felt sliding down a thirsty man's throat. Draco was drinking in her appearance, from the crown of her head to the rounded toes of her Mary Jane shoes with his cloudy grey eyes. A little shiver of anticipation trembled through her nerves as her skin flushed scarlet.

“I actually wanted to borrow the Weaslette.” He said coolly.

“Oh?” Pansy arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow and then looked slowly between her housemate and her Gryffindor friend with dawning comprehension. “Well, well, when did this happen?" Pansy offered an approving leer, and Ginny's face turned even redder. "Never mind, you can tell me later.”

Draco slid his arm under Ginny's and steered her back toward the castle as Pansy called out behind them. “Have fun kids, don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“What does that leave?” Ginny muttered, causing Draco to flinch.

“With Longbottom? Please- I just ate dinner.”

In spite of herself, Ginny giggled. “Sorry.”

She walked obediently beside him for a ways until they made a sharp left outside the great hall and wandered down a flight of stairs that she had never used before.

“Where are we going?” She asked nervously as the passage became narrow and dim.

“I thought we'd look for the other half of your skirt.” Draco said, in top Malfoy form, but a smile broke out a moment later. “Not too much further. There's something I thought that you might like to see.”

Ginny nodded, but curled her arm tighter around his own as they stopped walking down and turned into a corridor of almost pitch blackness.

Draco withdrew his wand from his robes. “Lumos,” he said crisply, and its tip sparkled to life, casting a soft glow on the surrounding stone walls. Bathed in the faint light, Ginny made out that they were in a storeroom of some sort.

Flour, sugar, and canned goods were stacked on shelves along one wall, but items of less certain origin and use were strewn about as well, some draped with white cloths, and others buried under layers of pale dust.

Draco led her to the far corner of the room where an ancient cupboard was wedged against the wall. In the faint light of Draco's wand, she could see that one of the cabinets was slightly opened, and seemed to be emitting a soft trilling sound. Draco handed her Ginny his wand, and then reached forward carefully, opening the door widely so that they could peer inside.

“It's okay.” He said in a whisper, and gestured that Ginny should take a look.

Curiously, she leaned forward and saw what appeared to be five tiny babies, none of them more than two inches long, asleep in a nest made from a grey cashmere sock.

“Fairies.” Draco said softly. “Devon Pinks, I think.”

Peering more closely, Ginny saw that, in fact, he was right. Each of the miniature infants had a pair of immature, gossamer wings folded on its back, and all but one were topped with a shock of hot pink hair.

“They hatched last week.” Draco said, his voice still no more than a whisper. “I heard `em crying and came to look. You don't see the babies much. Their mothers like to keep them hidden- I figured that you'd like to see them. You seem...in to that `Magical Creatures' stuff.”

Ginny arched an eyebrow. “You seem to know an awful lot about them for Someone who's not into that `Magical Creatures' stuff.”

“I don't mind it,” Draco shrugged, nonplussed. “- as long as we aren't studying Hippogryffs.” He qualified the statement. “Or skrewts.” He added a moment later.

“Or ....hell, everything that Hagrid shows us is bloody awful.” He seemed to take note of Ginny's souring expression and quickly changed the course of his comments. “Fairies are okay, though. We've got lots in mother's rose garden back home. She grows cabbage roses for them, special.”

Ginny frowned, sharply. Like Draco's compassion, the idea of a fairy garden was hard to reconcile with her idea of the Malfoy's. It was so shocking, in fact, that she blurted. “Your mum grows roses?”

Draco's lip curled. “What else is she going to put in a garden?”

Ginny flushed. “I dunno...” she said reluctantly, while thinking to herself: Belladonna, Nightshade, Venus fly traps...

The boy continued to demonstrate his eerie propensity to read Ginny's mind.

“Don't worry. She's got the nasty stuff too- just doesn't keep it in the formal gardens anymore- kept killing the lunch guests.”

Ginny didn't have a chance to ascertain whether Draco's words were spoken in seriousness or in jest. One of the fairy babies stirred, and fixed on her with lavender eyes no larger than a peppercorn. “It's so cute!” She cooed, starting to reach forward, but Draco stopped her.

A bolt of warmth shot upwards from her fingers and spread through her entire body as he clasped her hand in his own.

“Better not do that.” He said quietly. “If they get the scent of wizard on them, their mother will throw them out of the nest.” He gestured to the sock. “I had to charm the smell off that before I put it in.”

“You put the sock in there?” She said, not meaning for her voice to convey such clear disbelief.

“Yeah well- their teeth were chattering. Bloody annoying, actually.”

Ginny felt a pang as his hand dropped hers. “What were you doing down here, anyways?”

She was met with another shrug. “I just like to come down here sometimes. You know- to get away.”

“Get away from what?” She frowned.

“I don't know- Crabbe and Goyle, mostly, I guess. Parkinson. Zabini.” He shrugged. “I mean, it is strange here at school, isn't it? Having so many people around all the time?”

This time it was Ginny's turn to lift her shoulders equivocally. “Feels the same to me. There were always a ton of people at home too. Being the youngest, well- I didn't get much time to myself. It must be strange- being alone. I bet it's nice.”

“It is sometimes.” Draco nodded. After a moment's pause, he asked: “Why'd they do it anyways?”

“They?”

“Your parents. Why'd they have so many of you?”

Ginny's hackles began to rise, but the look on Draco's face was so Unexpectedly guileless and sincere that she answered. “I'm not sure. The just wanted to, I guess. Mum loves babies. Now that Ron and I are almost grown and out of the house, she hardly knows what to do with herself. She won't give Bill and Charlie a moment's peace.”

“Bill and Charlie?”

“My two oldest brothers.” Ginny explained. “She's always after them to get married and settle down- not that she is really prepared to turn over nagging them to a daughter-in-law, mind you!” Ginny couldn't help but chuckle. “It's just the only way she reckons to get a grandchild- grandchildren. We've all been ordered to produce a minimum of five...What about your parents?”

“Mine?

“Yeah. Why don't you have any brothers or sisters?”

Draco frowned, sharply. “I don't know. I guess my parent's figured that one was enough.”

“Doesn't your mum like babies?”

”She liked me.”

“Seriously- she's never started demanding grandchildren from you?”

”I'm seventeen, Weaslette!” Draco responded, and then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “No bloody wonder” but Ginny let it slide.

“Speaking of Mums...” She nodded once more toward the fairies. “I wonder where theirs is?”

It was at almost that exact moment that the mother in question chose to appear, buzzing in an angry circle as soon as she saw the young wizards poking into her nest.

“Uh-oh.” Draco said quietly. With a gentle prod, he tried to draw Ginny away.

Unfortunately, she didn't take the hint. She was too transfixed by the baby that had come awake. He was still staring at her, blinking slowly and waving his chubby miniature arms in tight circles.

“Go, now!” Draco barked.

Something in the tone of his voice must have upset the infant, because it broke into a sudden, sharp wail that was surprisingly loud for a creature of its size.

The mother fairy, already agitated, dove to attack.

Draco pinched Ginny's arm and wrenched her forward toward the hall, but didn't have time to remove himself. A thin strand of blue light crackled from the fairies tiny wand and hit him just above his wrist.

“Owwww!” He yelped, finally dashing away. Ginny had stopped, and was staring. “Don't just stand there, Weaslette- run!”

Chapter 6
The Kiss

She didn’t need to be told twice. The pained gasps that Draco emitted as two more bolts struck his bottom and shoulder convinced her that a retreat was required. The pair of students barreled through the hallway, back up the staircase, and into the great hall. They didn’t stop until they were back in the main castle and safely barricaded by a broom closet door.

“I’m sorry, Draco.” Ginny said as soon as she regained her breath. “I didn’t know they could do that.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, well being stung makes it easier to remember.” Almost reflexively, he lifted his arm and began to rub at the welt that had formed where the fairy bolt struck.

“Did it have a wand?” Ginny said, surprised. “I didn’t think that non-humans were allowed.”

“Yeah well- you want to go back and tell her she’s breaking the law?” Draco growled, but his tone was more petulant than angry. “They can’t do much but little stunners anyhow.” He shrugged. He was still rubbing his arm.

“Does it hurt much?” Ginny asked, frowning. The skin where the bolt had
struck had grown puffy and pink, and was faintly glazed with glitter.

Draco shrugged.

Ginny acted on the pure instinct of two and a half decades of tending the cuts and bruises of her hordes of cousins. “Awwww...let me kiss it and make it better.”

She did.

Ginny’s lips grazed his forearm as she exhaled softly, causing the fine
blonde hairs that grew there to stand on end.

Draco inhaled sharply, and the sound made Ginny suddenly conscious of what she had done.

“I…I-!” she began frantically, but Draco ignored her abortive attempts to retract what she had done. His eyes were like smoldering ashes as they met her own.

“Here.” He whispered, pointing at his shoulder.

“Here?” Ginny echoed, but she knew what he was asking. With blood pounding in her ears, she leaned closer and applied a second kiss.

He smelled of fir trees and smoke and rain. Ginny’s stomach made a funny flip.

“Here too.” Draco’s voice was as soft as an incantation, and just as effective in drawing her attention. She lifted amber eyes to his face. He was pointing at his lips.

“You didn’t get hit on the mouth!” She blurted stupidly, then flushed as the openness in Draco’s face was withdrawn, replaced with a more familiar sneer.

“Yeah, well, I actually got zapped on the bum, but this is the first date." He kept staring, melting her like butter under a flame. "Besides, I wouldn't want Crabbe and Goyle to get jealous and think that their job as chief arse-kissers was being threatened. A pouty minion is a bad minion."

He was smiling behind his smirk. She could see it, even if he didn’t want her to.

"Thank you for that terrifying mental image.” She replied as some of the tension leaked from her body.”

"Always happy to be of service," Draco retorted, tilting his head. His lashes lowered and he leaned much closer, whispering against her cheek. "Which brings me back to my original request..."

The seconds that his mouth drifted toward hers seemed to draw out for ages. When Draco’s lips finally reached their destination, Ginny was less aware of how they felt against her own, than how they made her feel inside. It was like riding a broom through a pocket of air, the dizzying, stomach-churning thrill of soaring and falling at once. Her senses were full of him: silver and cashmere and pinecones and gasping breath.

Draco’s tongue slicked across the seam between her lips, and they parted instantly, permitting him to deepen the kiss. His hands were on her back, sliding over the bulky knit of her hand-me-down jumper, and then they were under it, skin against skin.

“Gin,” Draco breathed as they parted for air, but he didn’t wait for her to look up or start to answer. His lips covered hers again, sucking away her breath as he applied another dizzying kiss.

This shouldn’t feel so right. Ginny had the haziest inkling of a thought as her arms curled around Draco’s narrow waist and she pushed her body against his own. He shouldn’t be so warm. I shouldn’t like it so much.. Ever since the “date” had been arranged, ever since their odd meeting in the Snake Pit- perhaps even earlier still, though Ginny wasn’t yet to admit it, she had been fascinated with the possibility of Draco Malfoy. In her mind, it had hung tantalizingly out of reach, like some forbidden treat- tempting because he was taboo. Ginny hadn’t really imagined that Draco would be desirable on his own rights. Yet here she was, twined in his arms, and even if no Malfoy had ever sneered at a Weasley, even if her father had never ordered a raid on his father’s manor, even if she hadn’t wanted so desperately to prove to the world at large that she was more than they expected, she wouldn’t have wanted to be any other place than Draco’s arms.

Ginny was breathless when they came apart again, taking air in great,
heaving gulps. She didn’t know if it was the lack of oxygen or something else that made her feel so dizzy. Draco seemed to feel it too.

“Merlin, Weaslette…” Draco breathed, running his hair through his normally perfect hair, throwing it into disarray. “ Merlin…”.

She reached for him again, even though a voice inside her head warned her to stop. She was starting something she didn’t know if she could control, but at that moment, it seemed worth the risk. She kicked a mop bucket out of the way to push him against the wall, and then flattened herself against him, feeling the swells and hollows of his shape pressed intimately against her own. She could feel the strain in his muscles, and the twisting, frightening need that it kindled in her body was like nothing Dean or Michael or Harry or any of the other boys
had ever been able to inspire.

Ginny slid her hands over Draco’s jumper-covered abdomen, and then she
tugged at the cloth, untucking his Oxford from his trousers so that she could push her hands inside. She brushed the backs of her fingers over the ridges of his ribs, and then she smoothed them over his chest, feeling the tiny buttons of his nipples, and the sleek planes where his muscles joined.

Draco’s hands had been settled lightly on her back, carefully still as she conducted her explorations, but now they began to move. They burrowed inside her jumper again, stroking over her back, and then dipping low to cup her arse. He bent forward to nip her neck, still holding her skirt taut.

She leaned into the touch.

Then the thread that had been holding up her skirt gave way.

Chapter 7
Humiliation

If Ginny hadn’t been so abjectly humiliated, she might have found humor in seeing Draco Malfoy, for the first time in her experience, completely disconcerted. He dropped his hands to his side, his features slack, and his seventeen-year-old eyes making a valiant, but losing struggle not to look at the faded cotton knickers now clearly on display.

“I swear, I didn’t do it--!” He started to defend himself, but the look of confusion on his pointed features only grew as tears flooded Ginny’s chocolate eyes, and she bent to grope blindly for the skirt.

“It’s rubbish!” She hissed violently, as she yanked the skirt back over her hips and held it in place with her hands. “Rubbish!” She couldn’t bear to look at Draco’s face. She couldn’t stand to see the contemptuous sneer which- great kisser or not- had to be there or, of it wasn’t, the look of pity which would hurt even worse.

Before the stunned Slytherin could speak she wrenched the broom closet open and bolted down the hall.

“Ginny! Wait!” Draco called after her, his long strides easily matching her own.
He had nearly caught her by the time that they reached Gryffindor tower.

“Quidditch Cards!” She panted to the fat lady, and then slid through the porthole just before Draco could make her stop, so that the painting slammed shut in his face.

The tears that had been leaking from behind her lids were flowing faster now, her body shook with small tremors of sobs. It wasn’t fair! She’d never complained about being poor! She’d never asked her parents for things they couldn’t afford! She’d always made due with what she had, but this was too much to bear! Couldn’t she at least have one memory that was shiny and happy and new? The kiss in the broom closet had been perfect- Draco had been perfect, and now it was ruined- ruined by a tatty, used skirt that had never been quite up to scratch.

“What’s going on, Weaslette?”
Ginny jumped as Draco’s oily drawl sounded next to her ear. She looked up and saw, through tear-blurred eyes, a sheepish looking Colin Creevy and an extremely put-out Draco Malfoy.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sniffled.

“Too bad.” He was acting like the old Draco now: coldly superior. In some measure, this was a relief. She knew how to respond, and she was less acutely aware of how a very short time ago her lips had been locked to his. He slid an arm under hers, then hauled her to her feet. “C’Mon.” He commanded.

Still pinching her waistband closed with her hands, she obeyed, following him to a reading alcove just off the main commons. She slid into a chair opposite him at the wide table, and studied his face. The stern mask was beginning to slip, so that, once more he looked like an ardent, yet uncertain boy.

“I really didn’t mean for anything to happen, Gin.” He said quietly. “I don’t know what-“

“It wasn’t you.” She admitted quietly. “It was the stupid skirt. Mum bought it too small and the fastening, and…” her explanation was buried in a fresh flood of tears. Draco squirmed in his seat, and Ginny was vaguely reminded of Harry’s retelling of his kiss with Cho Chang: “wet”. Was that how Draco would describe this to Crabbe and Goyle?

“Why did you wear it if it didn’t fit?” Clearly, none of this was making sense.

“Because it was new. Because…” Ginny chewed her lip. “Because it was new, and I thought it would look nice and you would never know. Because, I wanted you to see me as…as….as not just some other poor Weasley.” She hiccupped.

Draco stood.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Ginny said bitterly.

“You could at least let me try.” Draco’s grey eyes flickered with indecision.
For a moment, she thought that he was going to walk toward her, but he didn’t. He started toward the door. “For the record, I wasn’t looking at your skirt, Weaslette.” He said over his shoulder. “I was looking at you.”

Then, he was gone.

~*~*~*~

Six miserable days had passed during which time Ginny was unable, despite her best efforts, to contrive a way to rationalize the fiasco as Draco’s fault.

Malfoy had acted every inch the gentleman- even better than she had allowed herself to hope, and she had behaved like a spoiled baby.

Well, not spoiled exactly, Ginny thought with a smirk. Nevertheless, now that the sting of mortification had faded, she found it more difficult to look back upon her actions without regret. For his part, Draco had made no move to contact her. From time to time, sitting in the great hall, she would catch his eye and he never looked away. She had the sense that he was waiting- waiting for her to come to him.

“I was looking at you” Draco had said. Even two years later, standing in his mother’s foyer, Ginny wasn’t certain what she thought that he had seen.

Chapter 8
Gifts

“Ah, here it is!” Ginny was dragged from her thoughts by the smooth, cheerful voice of Narcissa Malfoy. After Draco’s departure, their conversation had drifted back to the debutante ball. Ginny hadn’t been in much of a mood for conversation but, caught up in her own memories, Mrs. Malfoy hadn’t seemed to mind. She had recounted her own Debut in infestimenal detail. After the elves had cleared the tea things away, she had invited Ginny back into the house.

“I know just where the trunk is!” She said in an animated tone, then turned to order yet another house-elf to toddle up to the attic. “I’d better go with him, sweeting, to make sure that he fetches the right one. Do make yourself at home.”

Ginny nodded, relieved by the prospect of a few moments alone. With a soft *pop*and a swish of her wand, Narcissa had disapparated from the room, leaving Ginny by herself.

Draco had assured his mother that he was returning to the office in London. So, for the first time all day, Ginny found herself completely solitary, and at last she had the freedom to examine her surroundings without any fear of permitting her wonder, or envy, to show.

The room she occupied was well proportioned: high ceilings, long walls, with delicate mouldings at the crown and intricate impressions in the plastered ceilings. The walls were covered in embossed leather- a subtle, rich color and texture that was expensive without being ostentatious. The furnishings were fine antiques.

Ginny remembered, with a pang, Lucius’s Malfoy’s taunt to her father at the Quidditch World Cup Finals when Ireland had played Bulgaria. He had sneered at the idea that the Weasleys could afford tickets, taunting, “Surely your house wouldn’t fetch this much.” Grudgingly she admitted that even one of the shining, fruitwood tables that lined the walls almost certainly would be more valuable than her home.

A troubled smirk hovered on her lips as she ran her palm over the smooth surface, and she couldn’t prevent the thought that pounded insistently in her head: “All this nearly was mine.”

Almost.

“Just carry it in here….that’s right. Just in the drawing room.”

Ginny tensed as she heard Narcissa return. She shifted to face the door.

Mrs. Malfoy slipped inside gracefully, followed by a struggling house elf porting a trunk easily four times its size. “Next to the sofa,” she commanded, and then kicked the little elf soundly in the shin when it didn’t move quickly enough.

With a squeak of pain, the servant did as it was told and then, after a curt nod from its mistress, skittered from the room. Narcissa settled on the couch in front of the trunk, the ugly glare she had employed while dealing with the elf replaced by a gentle smile. “Well, here we are,” she said warmly, beckoning Ginny closer. “I knew I could find it. All of my old deb things.” With a flick of her rosewood wand, the latch of the trunk sprang free and the heavy lid floated open.

The scent of gardenias instantly filled the room, and Ginny closed her eyes to savor the vivid images that the fragrance inspired. Narcissa reached into the box and began retrieving objects from its depths.

The smaller items had been packed on top: a pair of silken gloves, a handbag, and a velvet box that she settled almost reverently on her lap.

“Here’s my dance card!” She said excitedly, and retrieved a miniature booklet of ivory leather, its vellum pages edged in gold. A gold tasseled strap was affixed to the spine, along with a tiny pencil on a glittering chain. “You wear them around your wrist.” Narcissa explained, demonstrating. “If a gentleman wants to claim a dance, he takes your hand, like so,” she extended her palm face up, lifting it to an imagined suitor, “And he inscribes his name.” Her blue eyes skimmed over the pages. Her lips twitched into a smile at some of the names.

“Did you have many dances with Mr. Malfoy?” Ginny asked, feeling awkward to interrupt Narcissa’s reminisces, but fearing that it was impolite to merely sit in silence.

“Lucius? Merlin, no!” Narcissa’s eyes glittered as she laughed. “My father would have killed me first. He hated the Malfoys- especially Lucius’s father!” Noticing the look of disbelief on her young guest’s face, she explained. “New money you know.” She half whispered, as if Ginny weren’t the only other person in the room and she wasn’t speaking of the family whose name she now bore. “Why they’ve had this house less than four hundred years!” She said without a hint of irony. “Lucius’s great, great, great, great, great grandfather was in trade!”

Ginny’s lips twisted in bemusement, but her only response was a nod.

“He hated the Malfoy’s.” Ginny wondered if she sensed a pattern- or, possible, history repeating itself? No. She bit her lip, dragging her mind away from the conclusion it wished to reach. It wasn’t the same thing at all.

“But you married him!” Ginny exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Andromeda.” Narcissa supplied, setting the dance card on her lap and extracting a pair of glass-heeled shoes. “After my sister married a mudblood it didn’t seem so bad.”

Ginny winced slightly at the easy way that “mudblood” rolled off Narcissa’s tongue, but she forgot her indignation at the epithet when Narcissa pulled a heavy bundle of fabric into her lap. The top layer was faded muslin, but this was quickly stripped away to reveal a carefully preserved confection of organza and silk. It had a simple sleeveless bodice and full tea-length skirt but was overlaid with sheer, hand-embroidered lace. A row of tiny, pearl buttons marched up the back, and glittering lights had been charmed into the thread.

“My gown.” Narcissa said dreamily, and stood, holding it against her figure.

Mrs. Malfoy’s debutante ball might have been twenty years in the past, but Ginny had to admit that both the dress and its owner had aged well. With a lazy flick of her wand Narcissa conjured a mirror and then stood, admiring herself for a moment. At last, she turned back to Ginny. “Would you like to try it on?”

“Try it on?” Ginny gasped in disbelief.

“Yes.” Narcissa chuckled at her guest’s reaction. “Just to get a feel for it? Here.” She moved to unzip Ginny’s robe.

Ginny jumped, her hands closing instinctively over the chain that held Draco’s ring. Narcissa misinterpreted the reaction as modesty. “You can change in the powder room if you'd like.”

A few minutes later, Draco’s ring was safely tucked in her pocket, and Ginny was sliding the gown over her head. It felt even more expensive than it looked. Even the underskirt was silk, and it was covered with three tiers of organza so that it rustled when she walked.

“Beautiful!” Narcissa declared, when Ginny emerged. Taking the younger woman’s shoulders, she steered her toward the mirror.

Ginny stared. She looked like a princess- a fairy princess from one of her books at home, not the Muggle sort who were always getting themselves in trouble and making the news. The gown looked like something that had been created in a dream.

“Too tight about the chest.” Narcissa said wistfully,” But lovely. Here…” Her voice trailed off as she crossed the room, moving toward the sofa where the other contents of the trunk were strewn about. She picked up the velvet box that she had put aside and carried it back to Ginny. She lifted the lid slowly. For the second time in half an hour, Ginny exhaled a sigh of awe.

It was a tiara, small but exquisite. The rows of rhinestones- no, those are probably real diamonds, Ginny thought- were arranged to mimic a cluster of tiny blossoms.

“Do you like it?” Narcissa asked. She lifted it carefully from the box and arranged it in Ginny’s hair. “I had hoped to give it to our daughter but…”

Ginny thought she heard a choke in Narcissa’s voice, and she eyed her hostess’s reflection in the mirror to find that her eyes were misted with tears.

“Is something wrong?” She asked gently.

Narcissa waved the question away. “No. It’s nothing.” She took a step back, admiring the complete effect. “You look lovely.”

Ginny jumped when another voice joined the fray. “I would have to say that I agree.”

Ginny stiffened at the sound of Draco’s voice, but didn’t turn around.

“Darling!” Narcissa smiled and turned. “I thought you were going into the office.”

“I left some scrolls that I needed.”

Ginny could feel his eyes on her back, but she didn’t dare look into the mirror and check his reflection and see if her suspicions were true.

“Miss Weasley and I were going through some of my old things.” Narcissa explained, prodding Ginny to turn around and face her son. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Draco grunted in agreement.

“It’s my old gown. It suits her, I think…” She narrowed her eyes in scrutiny, “Although maybe an ivory silk would work better with her hair. I don’t think that all the girls just wear white anymore…” Narcissa continued speaking, oblivious to Draco and Ginny’s silence. She turned back to the girl. “What colour is your dress?”

Ginny felt her cheeks begin to burn. She hadn’t thought about her own gown. She was sure that the dress she was wearing cost thousands of galleons. There was no way that her family would be able to scrape together that kind of money merely to save face- even if her brothers chipped in.

“I haven’t got one yet.”

“Haven’t gotten one?” Narcissa gasped.

“Er….no.” Ginny answered quietly, praying that Narcissa would let the matter drop.

“But sweeting, you must!” Mrs. Malfoy’s tone was astonished. “All the best gowns will be taken by now. You don’t want to end up with something from Malkin’s” She spoke the shop name as if it were a plague, “You could go to Paris, I suppose, their season is later, but you still don’t have much time, unless-”

“Ginny’s having her dress custom made,” Draco’s voice inserted smoothly, “Aren’t you, Gin?”

It was news to Ginny, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to accept his help. She didn’t want to be rescued again, but there didn’t seem to be a choice. She couldn’t bear the thought of standing in Narcissa Malfoy’s parlor, swathed in the most decadent silk confection that she had ever seen much less worn, wilting under the scrutiny of a man she might have loved, and confessing that the most likely plan was to borrow her mother’s cousin’s husband’s sister’s dress from nine years past, and if that didn’t work out, her mother would sew something from scratch. She was tired of being second rate. She was enjoying pretending to be a princess, and she wasn’t ready for the illusion to end.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was strange how Draco always seemed to catch her lacking the proper attire.

Everything had started with a dress. More accurately, it had started with a skirt: a black velvet skirt that fell just above Ginny’s knees that arrived a few days after the infamous broom closet incident along with a note pinned to its hem:

Library.
Study Room C.
7 o’clock.
You don’t have an excuse this time.
,DBM

She had debated whether or not to go. All week, Ginny had been sulking about what had happened, weighing the excitement of kissing Draco Malfoy against the almost certain knowledge that he was either pursuing a hidden agenda now, or would only sneer at her memory someday, and trying to decide if she could bear it. In the end, her struggle didn’t last long. She was sixteen years old, she’d liked snogging him, and she was starting to discover that she didn’t know as much about Draco Malfoy as she thought she did. Besides, she was a Gryffindor. Wasn’t she supposed to be brave?

That night, Ginny slid her hips into the skirt, threw on another shrunken sweater and met him like he asked.

“Nice Weaslette.” He said when he saw her, giving Ginny a slow, scorching appraisal that she felt in the bottom of her toes.

She forced a cool reply. “I thought you said you weren’t looking at my skirt.”

“I’m looking at your arse,” he answered with a cheeky grin, “Unfortunately, I haven’t mastered the charm to see through clothing…yet.”

“Our Malfoy, lacking in charms?” She said in a mock-scandalized tone.

“Hardly.” His eyes continued to rake her body. “Shall I prove it?”

She really hadn’t expected him to kiss him again so soon. During the summer, when she had dated Harry, they would talk for hours before he would work up the nerve to brush a closed-mouth kiss against her lips or, (if he was filling particularly daring) to skim his hands over the front of her shirt.

Draco wasn’t wasting any time.

Ginny wasn’t complaining.

The moment that his lips met hers, his hands were roaming over her body. He started at her shoulders, drawing her against his chest, and then the warm palms moved downwards resting on the base of her spine. His tongue flicked against her lips. Then, when they parted, pushed inside to explore the warm hollow of her mouth.

When he finally drew away, Ginny was breathless and flushed- and alarmed by Draco’s expression.

He was staring at her as if he expected her to speak. After more than a minute of floundering for something to say, she finally blurted: “I liked my present.”

“Your present?” He looked momentarily confused, and then another wicked smile unfurled on his lips.

“My skirt.”

“Oh? Who said that was a present for you?”

She felt a giddy lightness in her stomach at his playful tone. “Do you like the way it looks?”

His fingers gripped the curve of her arse and she felt his breath against her neck as he whispered. “I like the way it feels.”

There was no way to tell where it might have ended up if Madame Pince hadn’t interrupted.

“You’re bending the spines of those books!” Ginny mocked after they were safely out of the library. The horrified librarian- purposefully diverting her eyes from the pawing teenagers, had rushed to the rescue of her beloved books, shooing them both back into the hall.

Draco snickered at Ginny’s mimicry and then added, “She’s lucky she came before I got my bookmark in your pages.”

Ginny shivered and blushed, but followed him through the corridors and then outside. They walked hand-in-hand until they came to the edge of the Forbidden Forest where a stable of sorts had been constructed to house one of Hagrid’s assorted beasts but was empty now. They climbed up to the loft and laid together in the sweet-smelling hay, Draco's chin resting on her shoulder and his arms around her waist as they watched the moonrise and the glow of fairies and will-o-wisps moving in the forest below.

The next Wednesday Ginny received another parcel: a shirt of slick emerald silk and a note that read:

Greenhouse Three. Seven O’clock. Don’t be late.

She wasn’t.

Draco met her under an arch of roses that closed behind her, enclosing them in a fragrant bower. His lips covered hers as his arms surrounded her body. Warm hands skimmed the thin fabric of her shirt until her skin felt liquid beneath.

“What are you doing?” She gasped between kisses.

Draco leered. “Making sure that I still like what I feel.”

“And do you?”

She didn’t really need to ask.

The next week’s offering was a nubby sweater, a corduroy skirt and a picnic by the lake. His long fingers explored every bump and ridge of the barrier between their skin as they lay in the tall grasses by the water’s edge.

The fourth week, he sent satin knickers.

The fifth week, he sent nothing at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In retrospect, telling Hermione might have been a mistake.

Gin had felt confident during her five week courtship by Draco with confiding in Pansy alone, but the most recent gift- or rather, lack thereof had left her needing more. She adored Pansy, but sometimes doubted that the Slytherin girl could truly relate to Ginny’s life. Hermione had seen it. Hermione had been to the Burrow. She had lived through Molly’s scolding and the twins teasing.

She understood.

Her reaction had been about what Ginny expected: shock, disbelief, and then a reluctant, suspicious acceptance.

“Let me get this straight, Ginny.” She said, her face screwed up in concentration as though she was pondering a problem for arithmancy. “You’ve been seeing Draco Malfoy,” She said the name as if it were some particularly repugnant potions ingredient, “ for the past month…”

“Five weeks!” Ginny corrected.

“Five weeks.” Hermione rolled her eyes, “And you’ve been accepting presents for him to…feel.”

Ginny frowned, disliking the implication in Hermione’s voice. “He’s never tried anything!” She defended.

“Yet.”

A moment of silence hung between the two girls before Hermione elaborated. “You said that he didn’t send a gift with the last note.”

“No.”

“And that means…?” When Ginny didn’t answer immediately, Hermione sighed, “Ginny, you really don’t need me to figure this out for you- he’s asking you for sex.”

Ginny was slightly startled by her bluntness. “Maybe,” She conceded after a long pause.

“C’mon Gin, what else is he going to want from…” Hermione bit her tongue. Her face flushed in realization that, once again, she had spoken too much without thinking.

Ginny’s brown eyes flashed with anger. “What could he possibly want from who? Poor, raggedy, second-hand Ginny Weasley?”

Hermione cringed at the well-merited attack, but held her ground. “I didn’t mean it to be cruel, Gin, but think about it. What do you have that Draco wants? Do you honestly think that he loves you? That he means to marry you? Will he ever bring your relationship out into the open?”

“You don’t know him! He..he likes to talk to me!” Ginny retorted, but her mouth went dry as she realized the lie. It seemed like she and Draco liked to talk. There was never an awkward silence, and she felt comfortable telling him what she wanted. The truth was,however, during their meetings they rarely spoke. Their mouths were usually otherwise occupied, as they communicated with touch, rather than sound.

“I just want you to be sure,” Hermione said, “It’s an awful big step if you’re not.”

Ginny had continued staring at the open doorway of her room for several minutes after Hermione left. The other occupants of the room had already disappeared for the evening. Most of them were enjoying the grounds, or seeking out the dark corners of the castle with the boy of their choice. A few lingered in the common room. From time to time, the sound of their laughter would float up the stairs, breaking the silence that was nearly complete, save the ominous ticking of the clock. Ginny should have left already if she was going to be on time. Was he Draco waiting? He hated waiting…yet, why should she cater to his whims?

Ginny groaned and threw herself back on the bed, staring into the heavy velvet draperies that surrounded it. They cast deep shadows across her face. Up until that moment, everything in her relationship with Draco had been easy. She never would have expected the course of events to unfold as they had, but it had all felt natural, like water moving along the course of a stream, flowing naturally to the path of least resistance. It was as though she had hit a dam. Now all of her emotions were building up inside, pressing against the barrier which would decide if she was tamed or broke free.

Ginny didn’t know what to do. In some ways, she was even more confused now than before she had spoken to Hermione. Still, her friend’s question echoed in her mind.

Was she sure? How could she be? Draco didn’t love her- at least, he’d never said that he loved her. Did she need him to be in love? Was she? Did she want to be?

“Yes, yes, yes,” her heart and mind cried out in unison. She pressed her lids together, trying to staunch the flow of tears suddenly pooling there. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but she was nearly convinced t hat she was in love with the Draco- and not in the sense of a puppyish crush like she had been with Harry. Sometime since their meetings had began, something subtle had changed. He was her first thought upon waking, and the last before she closed her eyes at night. He haunted her thoughts through out the day, filtering what she learned and saw through the notion of : “I wonder what Draco would think…”.

Wednesday- the day that her weekly owl and present arrived- had become her favorite day. She awaited the post with the jittery excitement of an addict about to receive a drug, all nervous, fidgety tension, followed by ecstatic release. How had it all gone wrong?

Hermione had been irrefutably right about a lot of things. There wasn’t a real chance for the relationship to grow. As much fun as she had fumbling around in study rooms and storage halls, there seemed to be little chance for more.
She couldn’t imagine Draco introducing her to his family- a lowly Weasley (And come to think of it, she wouldn’t want to be in Draco’s shoes if she ever brought him home to the Burrow)- but, if he didn’t love her, and didn’t want a relationship, what did that leave?

Sex.

The conclusion was unavoidable, even if it cut her to the bone, and even though she hated herself, she wondered if that was enough- if maybe it wasn’t worth it to be with Draco and love him even if she was never loved back. After all, that was her typical M.O, wasn’t it? She thought bitterly. She could be the poster child for unrequited love.

Yet, even her present misery wasn’t enough to banish the memory of his warm hands brushing over her skin, or to quiet the small voice daring her to hope: “He might love me. He hasn’t said that he doesn’t either.”

Ginny closed her eyes, trying to remember all the touches they had shared, wishing that she could use them to decipher his true intent. Then, lost in her memories, and without really meaning to, she slowly drifted to sleep.

Ginny felt a pair of arms wind around her waist and draw her into a pocket of warmth. Reaching forward, she found the source of the heat: a well-muscled torso that she had grown to know by touch alone. Her eyes flew open, and sparkled when she confirmed her suspicion.

“Draco.” She whispered.

He answered with a soft smile. “Good morning, beautiful,” and then he leaned forward to kiss her neck, nibbling up the tendon in her neck until he was nuzzling her ear.

“Draco!” She giggled, closing her eyes again and winding her arms around his neck. “You came and found me.”

“Always.” He whispered. Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew that he wore a wolfish grin. “I came to check out my present.”

“Oh?”

“I want to know if I like how it feels.” He purred, and one long finger slipped beneath the strap of a silk nightgown that she didn’t remember owning, much less putting on.

The touch of his finger was a paradox: a flash of heat that sent a chill down her spine. Small shudders traveled through every nerve, ending at the tips of her toes.

“Draco…” She felt a momentary flutter of panic. “Are we….are you…?”

“Sure?” He asked, and lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Of course, I’m sure Gin.” She was vaguely aware that his other hand hadn’t stopped moving. It had eased the nightgown off of her shoulders and over her chest, exposing her freckled breasts. “I love you, Ginny.” He said planitively, and she felt a second shudder, this one a physical reaction to the pure emotional power of the words.

“You-?” She started to blubber, shocked, even as a giddy lightness was enveloping her.

“Love you.” Draco whispered. “All of you. I just want to show you how much.”

She opened her eyes at last, staring into his stormcloud eyes. The pupils were narrowed with desire, and when she bucked up against him, she felt further evidence of his desire.

“How do you want to show me?” Ginny pushed, tipping her hips against him again, grinding a slow circle against his hips.

He groaned. “You’re going to find out really soon if you keep doing that…” he said in a strained tone, and then he dipped his head to capture her nipple between his teeth and tongue.

Her breath came out in a hiss as he sucked on the tender flesh. “Do you like that.” He lifted his head to query. It was agony to loose even a second of contact. He leaned his head back against her bosom, and she felt a smile curl on his lips. “There’s more to like.”

One of his hands moved heavily down her side, taking the nightgown with it. He stopped at the fullness of her hips, cradling her once more against him before he released her, then rocked back to sit on his knees and stripped away his own shirt.

He was beautiful- all lean muscles and pale skin. Ginny felt a little swoon of pleasure as he reached for the button of his trousers and began to inch them over his narrow hips.

“Do you want this, Ginny?”

“Yes.” She replied without hesitation, and his eyes darkened again. Draco's trousers were stripped away, and he leaned forward to pin her with his body again. His lips sought her mouth as his hands roamed wantonly over every inch of her flesh.

”Ginny…” he said her name like a prayer, whispering it again and again.

“Ginny, Ginny, my Ginny…”


“Ginny?”

That didn’t sound like Draco’s voice. Ginny frowned, feeling a stab of panic as the scene around her began to melt away. It had sounded like…

“Ginny? Are you still in bed?”

Hermione!

“Ginny, there you are!” The voice was louder now. “Rise and shine
sleepyhead. You’ve got a Quidditch match to play.”

Ginny felt her stomach twist as realization dawned: She had been asleep.

Everything had been a dream…and she had missed the date!

Chapter 9
Uncertainty

Everything had been a dream.

Ginny blinked rapidly, sitting up in bed. A second rush of panic quickly followed the first.

Hermione’s voice had mentioned a quidditch match today? The Quidditch match wasn’t until Saturday! Surely Hermione didn’t mean…

“So,” Hermione perched on the edge of her bed, “How did it go last night?”

“Last night?” Ginny shook her head, still refusing to believe that it was Saturday morning. “Last night? It can’t be morning already.” She rooted frantically on her bedside table for a watch. “It can’t.”

“What are you getting at, Gin?” Hermione asked, and when the panic on Ginny’s features continued to build- and she got an eyeful of Ginny’s outfit- the same shirt and trousers she had worn the night before- understanding dawned at last.“You didn’t go?”

“No.” Ginny finally found the watch, swore at it, and bounded out of bed, raking her fingers through her wavy hair in an attempt to make it presentable. “I didn’t go at all. I fell asleep a little bit after I left the room. Oh, Merlin!” Ginny hopped on one foot as she struggled into her shoes, and then bounded for the door. “I’ve still got time for breakfast.” She called over her shoulder in explanation. “Maybe I can reach him there.”

~*~*~*~*~

Breakfast in the great hall was nearly over, but Ginny still had hopes of finding Malfoy. She had started watching him during meals- nothing obvious, but enough casual glances to check his position and catch a smile or a wink in the long drought of contact between the weekends and his Wednesday owl. She had noticed that Draco and his crew always drifted in late, and liked to linger when the others were gone. As she entered the vast room, she was relieved to find that he was still seated at the centre of the Slytherin table, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle (both reaching forward almost constantly to refill their plates).

She couldn’t see his face, but the flash of platinum hair signified that she hadn’t missed her chance to speak with him before she left to prepare for Gryffindor’s match against Ravenclaw.

Ginny started to move forward, but then stopped. What was she planning to do? Was she simply going to march up to Draco Malfoy in front of the entire school? On the few occasions that she had visited the Slytherin table during the week, she had done so under the pretense of visiting Pansy. Parkinson was gone for the weekend, however- something to do with preparations for her party- and with her, Ginny’s excuse was also absent.

Ginny decided to bide her time, hovering behind the doorway until Draco pushed away from the table and stood to leave. She was finally able to see his eyes- unreadable from a distance, except to make out that he had stared at the Gryffindor table for a long time. Ginny’s heart fluttered. He was looking for her! Perhaps it would be easier than she had feared.

Happily Crabbe and Goyle remained at their seats, and so Draco was alone as he passed by Ginny’s doorway. She grabbed the corner of his sleeve as he walked by.

“What the-?” Draco spun around, drawing his wand too quickly for Ginny to even blink. She gasped and stared at it until, looking embarrassed, he let it lower.
“You should be careful.” He warned as he tucked it back into his pocket. Then, all of the warmth in his voice was gone as he growled. “I got the impression that you didn’t want to see me.”

“Are you talking about last night?” Ginny snapped, and then instantly regretted it. Of course he was talking about last night- what else could he mean? She forcibly switched to a lighter tone, trying to inject her voice with a laugh. “Well, there wasn’t anything for you to feel.” She tried to tease, the tension in her smile almost painful. “I figured you wouldn’t have any reason to see me.”

Something in Draco’s face changed- something that Ginny could barely express. It was as though it had hardened, and as if the eyes that had seemed as deep and alive as the summer sea had suddenly frozen into flecks of silver ice. “I see.”

Ginny didn’t know what she had done wrong, but she sensed that she had made a miscalculation. She backpedaled. “I’m sorry.” She said, “I fell asleep.”

“That excited to come and see me, eh?”

“No…I mean yes, I mean…Oh, Draco. Let’s not fight.” On an impulse, she leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his lips, astonished when they remained firmly shut.

With a sigh, she drew away. “I said I was sorry. It’s the best I can do. Are you going to quit pouting? I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“About…”

About the real reason that I didn’t show up. About how frightened I am. About the fact that I kind of, sort of, think that I might possibly be in love with you. She thought, but didn’t say anything except: “Pansy’s party.”

“Pansy’s party?”

“Yes. The party. It’s next week. Are we going together? I thought that we would.” She tried to smile again. “It would feel very nice if you would…”

“I’ll think about it Weaslette.” He snapped, and started to walk away again.

“You’re leaving?” Ginny asked, both hurt and amazed, “Well, are you coming to the game?”

“No,” Draco said in a lofty tone. “I think I’m going to skip it. I’m feeling tired. Maybe I’ll sleep.”

Without a backwards glance, he was gone.

Gryffindor lost.

Ginny was glad that she no longer played seeker, as a more obvious share of the blame would have hung on her head. As it was, her ball handling had been less than stellar, but the rest of the team was off too. Ravenclaw’s new seeker had caught the snitch.

Ginny hurried back to Gryffindor tower, changed, and then spent the rest of the afternoon roaming the halls and grounds, trying to find out where Draco was hiding. The answer must have been the Slytherin Common room, because her search was fruitless. He didn’t appear for lunch or dinner that night.

Sunday was more of the same. Ginny spent hours on a five inch scroll about the popular uses of unicorn droppings. She kept losing her focus on the project, and ended up writing the same sentence “Unicorn droppings are the sourest substance in the world.” over again.

Monday was equally miserable. She had Herbology in the greenhouses before lunch, followed by Arithmancy, and then Divination- meaning she didn’t even pass Draco in the halls. She saw him at lunch, but whenever she looked up, he resolutely ignored her gaze.

Tuesday offered no change.

Then Wednesday arrived, with the post.

Ginny’s eyes widened at the size of the package dropped beside her chair.

Three full-grown owls struggled to carry it to her seat, and then hooted and flapped in annoyance as she cut the strings binding the parcel to their legs.

“What is it, Ginny?” Lavender Brown asked, looking excited.

“Nothing.” Ginny answered carefully, but her heart was pounding in her chest. She glanced at the Slytherin table. Draco was already gone.

Abandoning her breakfast, and ignoring the fact that she had Healing Lessons in less than an hour, Ginny raced back to Gryffindor tower. She cast a locking charm on the door and crawled into her bed, closing the curtains around her.

The plain brown paper on the package gave no indication of its contents, other than what could be gleaned from the fact that the paper was thick, the twine was a shimmery silver, and the address had been penned in silver ink to:

Miss Ginevra Weasley,
Great Hall
Hogwarts Castle, Scotland.

With shaking fingers, Ginny peeled away the paper. A golden box was tucked inside, and after its lid was lifted away, there were several sheets of tissue paper. She peeled them away carefully, and then her breath caught in a delighted cry.

To say that the dress robes inside the box were exquisite would be an understatement in the extreme. They were perfection, fashioned of cool, watery green silk that had been perfectly cut to form a deep V neckline, tight bodice, and slightly flared skirt. Tiny leaves and flowers had been embroidered at the neck and hem.

Ginny sprang from the bed, holding it up to her collarbone. On an impulse, she shimmied out of her school uniform and drew it over her head. She started when the fabric suddenly became warm and seemed to mold itself to her body.

A tailoring charm, her brain supplied, and then her heart raced even faster. Although she’d never experienced one before, she was well aware of how difficult and expensive they were to cast. This had, apparently, been one of the best. The dress fit perfectly now, skimming her body like a second skin.

Ginny couldn’t resist the girlish urge to spin around, watching the folds of the skirt flutter and fan around her. Draco had sent this to her. She knew it!

She returned to the bed, rooting around in the tissue paper of the box until she found a small card which must have been tucked inside the dress:

You win. We can go.
I’ll meet you in the great hall on Saturday. Five o’clock.
Get your sleep the night before.
-D.B.M.

~*~*~*~*~*

Two years later, Draco stood at the drawing room window and watched Ginny Weasley disappear down the garden path. He narrowed his eyes to watch the sway of her hips as she moved, and to pick up the glints of sunlight in her hair as the copper curls slowly blended into the leaves and flowers of the hedge.

“Busy at the office, were you?” Narcissa Malfoy asked, forcing her son to break his concentration as he spun around to the sound of her voice.

Draco glanced at his mother, noted the stacked of scrolls in her hands- the same scrolls that he was meant to have taken to his father in London- then shrugged.

He turned back toward the window and frowned.

She was gone.

Narcissa watched her son’s eyes carefully, and he didn’t bother to hide the succession of emotions on his face: hope, frustration, and finally pain. She settled onto the edge of the sofa, observing him in silence.

When it became clear that she wasn’t going to go away, he turned.

“So, what did you think?” he asked at last.

“I thought that it was a very interesting lunch.”

“Interesting?” Draco frowned.

Narcissa pursed her lips, appearing to deliberate before her next statement. “I think that she has potential.”

Draco dipped his head, looking relieved. “You’ll help her then?” He said more quickly than he meant. “I mean...”

“I’ve asked her to go with me to the Garden Party next week.”

“With your friends?”

Narcissa’s lips twisted into a smile, as if she were bemused by the horror in his tone. “Of course. You want her to have a proper introduction into society, don’t you?”

Draco sidestepped his mother’s question. “Those old vipers will eat her alive.”

“Well if they do, than its all the better for her.” She answered cooly,

“It’s sink or swim, sweeting. If she isn’t cut out for this sort of life, then its better she know it now. How do you think she’s going to fare as a society wife if she can’t-”

“I haven’t said anything about marrying her!”

There was a beat of silence.

Narcissa arched an eyebrow and gave her son a significant look. “No. You haven’t.” She let him squirm for a moment on her hook. “But you do Understand that’s the point of the Debutante Ball- to arrange acceptable Pureblood marriages?”

Draco shrugged miserably, uncomfortably aware of his mother’s continued stare, and of the look behind her eyes.

She knew. Should he even be surprised? She was, after all, the woman who had always caught him when he tried reading in bed, whose sixth sense alerted her if he was sneaking into the dungeons, or taunting house-elves, or flying his broom beyond the Manor grounds. Reluctantly, he met her gaze. He was surprised by the compassion he found there.

“Mother, I-”

“I know.”

Wordlessly, she communicated her understanding, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing the ringless finger.

Draco clenched his eyes, silently digesting this information. “What will father think?”

“He’ll think...” Narcissa took a breath. “He’ll think that she’s a Weasley.”

“And you?”

Narcissa rose from the couch, drawing her son into her arms. She guided his head onto her shoulder, and then stroked the downy hair, just as she had when he was a child. “I think that you’re a Malfoy- and a Black.” She said in a determined tone. “I think that if you want her badly enough, you’ll find a way.”

Did he want her badly enough?

Did he want her at all?

He wasn’t sure that he knew, or, perhaps, he knew that he shouldn’t, but he did. Somehow, in the cold winter months of his final year the fire of Ginny Weasley had burned a brand into his soul, and no amount of hoping, or praying or any kind of magic save love could ever wash it away.

He loved her. In spite of every impulse, in spite of conscious will, it had happened. Somehow, being with Ginny had stopped being a novel distraction or a compulsive habit and become something vital to his very soul.

It had started innocently. He had been nice to her. He still wasn’t certain why. In retrospect, it might have been a sort of experiment, a test of what would happen if he stepped entirely out of the role that fate had assigned. Draco Malfoy wasn’t nice. He didn’t have to be. People liked him anyway- or at least they pretended to. Who could ever tell? He could be hateful, or petty, or mean, but he was still a Malfoy. It wasn’t the sort of thing that people could afford to disregard.

For a time, his name had been a comfort, an impermeable wall that protected him from harm, but in the summer after fifth year, everything had changed. Draco saw, for the first time, that a name could be torn down, just like anything else and he wondered- if his father hadn’t been cleared, if things hadn’t turned out-what would he have had left?

He would always have money, of course. The ministry could tout the seizure of assets and freeze the vaults, but the Blacks and Malfoys had been amassing riches longer than the Ministry had been in existence, and they knew how to keep what they got. Money could buy security and (regardless of what people said) money could buy friends, but not the sort that mattered. It wasn’t enough.

Draco had his mind- he had always prided himself in excellence in his studies, at first to prove his superiority of mind, but eventually as a matter of pride. He had his mother’s love. Still, he wondered if there was something else.

Ginny Weasley was the answer, a girl who wouldn’t love him for his name. If anything, she tolerated him in spite of it. He had sent the first owl with little hope of a reply- but she had come. She had come, and she had kissed him, and suddenly, the world had changed.

It had cut like a knife.

The thought was cliché. Still, Draco could think of no better metaphor for the way Ginny’s rejection had stung him when she missed their scheduled meeting.

In his mind, he could almost see himself staring incredulously at a trickle of blood, the shock of the injury coming before the hurt.

Turning away from the window, Draco stared at the place where his mother had kissed- the place where he had once worn his serpent ring, and suddenly, the pain was fresh.

He had meant to give her the ring that night. After weeks of owling trifles- skirts and shirts and other scraps of cloth- he was finally ready to give her a part of himself, finally ready to go public with their relationship. Early on the joke had started that he wanted to test how the articles of clothing he bought her felt. That night he had meant to tell her that he liked how she felt in his arms. He wanted her to have something to prove it.

Of course, she never came. He had waited in the supply room for hours, casting chronos spells after he became convinced that his watch was fast. At first, he wondered if he had written the wrong time, and when an hour past, he wondered if he had gone to the wrong place. He had roamed the halls of Hogwarts peeking into every corner, hoping to discover where she'd gone. After two hours, he had bribed Creevy to scope the Gryffindor common room and report. When there was still no Ginny, he had gone to the Snake Pit to look for her there. Finally, in a fit of panic, he had climbed to the hospital wing. She wasn't there. There was only one conclusion to reach: she didn't want to be with him, and she didn't want to be found. He spent a sleepless night alone in his room, trying to rationalize her absence and wondering what went wrong.

The explanation was crueler than he had feared, simple, yet cutting:

He hadn’t sent a gift. Ginny hadn’t come.

He shouldn’t have expected her to be different. He should have known that any woman- much less a Weasley who had never had anything pretty or new in her life- would only want him for what he could buy. He’d hoped that Ginny would be different, but he could tell in retrospect that the presents he’d sent- the robes and dresses he’d sent by owl with his notes, and the galleons that he’d slipped into her pockets without her ever knowing- would be more valuable to her than his empty hands wrapped around her waist. As soon as the presents had stopped, so had she. He’d dared to hope that it really was a mistake, but then she’d admitted it when they had met the next day:

“Well, there wasn’t anything for you to feel.” Ginny laughed as she said it, and even now his stomach tightened at the memory. Years later, it was still like a punch in the gut, still stunning that she could hurt him so easily with so little, still amazing that he couldn't bring himself to let her go.

~*~*~*~*~

Two years earlier, the Monday after Ginny’s rejection had dawned cold and forbidding, and Draco meant to mirror the weather. He barked at the firsties he met lingering in the Common Room, and only spoke with Crabbe and Goyle long enough to demand that they bring breakfast to his room.

When he was still a little boy, Draco’s mother had told him, “You don’t always get what you want,” and the notion had seemed laughable at the time. Of course he always got what he wanted. He was Draco Malfoy. What his money couldn’t buy, his parents could command with their social and political power. He didn’t mingle with people who didn’t respect that code. Ginny Weasley had been the first- and, he vowed, the last- person to challenge that notion.

He ignored her that day. At dinner, his eyes only drifted toward the Gryffindor table once, and that was only to revel in how sad and disconcerted she looked…only he couldn’t feel too much satisfaction. In spite of his anger, he felt a small tug on the corner of his heart, and so he kept his gaze averted for the remainder of the meal.

Tuesday morning, she was beautiful. He was glad that she hadn’t seen him as she dashed along the hallway between Transfiguration and charms. Her school jumper was untucked, her robes were too short, and her hair was flying loose of its braids. She looked just as untidily perfect as she had that first night in the Snake Pit so many weeks before. Didn’t she know that she didn’t need any trimmings? She was beautiful, just the way that she was.

He tried not to dwell on her as he went miserably through the motions in potions class. “A gram of dragon scales, eye of newt…” He didn’t want to remember his face. He didn’t want to think of how dark it looked without her brilliant smile. “Pickled toad liver, lacewing flies.” He didn’t care if she wasn’t happy. It would serve her right. “Boil for twelve minutes, stirring constantly.” Except, of course, that he did care. He cared more than anything.

He cared even though he didn’t want to. Ginny Weasley was an itch that he had to scratch.

He sent an owl to Paris.

The next morning, he watched as three of the birds struggled under the weight of a dress from the finest boutique.

She would come. He knew even before she had looked at him and smiled and nodded. Even though it hurt, even though he wanted Ginny to push the offering away- to throw it in the rubbish bin and scream at him for the thought that he could ever buy her anyway- it was enough.

Chapter 10
The Party


Draco didn’t remember the way Ginny looked when she met him for Pansy’s party, so much as he remembered the way that he felt. It was as if everything else in the room had suddenly vanished, focusing all attention solely on her.

At first, he wasn’t sure that it was Ginny. He has thought, many times, that she didn’t need fancy clothes and perfect makeup to be beautiful, and that was still true. It was also true that it didn’t hurt. She was like a vision as she drifted down the stairs, floaty, iridescent fabric and magically applied sparkles only enhancing the effect.

“Well?” She looked almost nervous as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Do you like it?”

Draco dipped his head, exerting all of his control to appear cool and unaffected. “It’s nice.”

A smile broke out on her face. It was the same, lop-sided grin that she always wore, but it made his stomach flutter just the same. He offered his hand. “We’re late.”

Ginny reigned in her smile, adopting Draco’s own aloof, unreadable expression and permitted herself to be led to the door.

“Aren’t we going to floo?” Ginny asked.

Draco made a sound that communicated, “Certainly not!”, “My parents sent the carpet for me to use.”

Before she could question this answer, he had swept Ginny out onto the front steps. At the bottom, a rich red Aubusson rug was hovering mere inches above the ground.

“Aren’t these illegal?” Ginny asked, her eyes slightly agog as she stepped onto the plush surface and settled onto a silken pillow.

“Illegal to sell, not to own.” Draco replied. He took a seat next to her, and lazily swished his wand.

Ginny yelped quietly as the surface beneath her became firmer, and a clear, bubble surrounded the rug, holding warm air in and blocking the wintry wind.

“Hold on.” Draco said, and flicked his wand again. The carpet rose, and soon they were racing above the clouds.

Draco slid his arm around Ginny’s shoulder, rubbing it in a warming gesture, even though he knew quite well that the enchantment was blocking the chill.
He didn’t want to let himself do it- didn’t want to feel tempted to be tender again, but ultimately lacked the will to stop. I paid for it, after all. He thought grimly. Then, wanting to enjoy the illusion at least, pushed the thought from his mind and snuggled up next to Ginny as they drifted beneath the starry sky.

Ginny seemed to be in an indulgent mood as well. As soon as her nerves about flying had passed, she snuggled into the crook of Draco’s arm, and then tilted up her face to kiss his lips and neck and chin. The caress was almost lazy, and he didn’t pressure her for more. Later. He promised, and contented himself by rubbing her cheek with the back of his hand.

All too soon, the pastures and forests beneath them gave way to tiny houses, then stores, and flats, until they were well and truly over London proper.

“Can’t the Muggles see us?” Ginny asked, peering over the edge of the carpet with interest now.

“No. Its one of the effects of the shielding charm. It seals in the heat, keeps us from falling out, and keeps the Muggles from noticing. It doesn’t come standard- that’s why they’ve had such a problem- crazy old sorcerers cavorting around on moth-eaten Persians and getting spotted,” he explained, not bothering to hide his disgust.

Ginny gripped his arm as the carpet began a tightly spiraling descent into London proper.

“We can’t get to Diagon Alley by air. We’ll land at the Cauldron and walk.”

A few minutes later, they had done just that. Draco tapped his wand on the brick gateway and stepped into the High Street of Wizarding London with Ginny Weasley on his arm.

Draco strolled down Diagon Alley with Ginny’s hand resting lightly in his. He tried not to look at her as they walked, but he could tell by the envious stares of passers-by just how delectable she looked.

They hurried past the row of familiar, slightly shabby shops frequented by schoolchildren crouched against the sidewalk like a row of comfortable shoes. Draco read their names as he passed: Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch, Ollivander’s. Further down the street, looking slightly more modern and polished was Madame Malkin’s Robe For All Occasions. Beyond even that were a row of tiny, miscellaneous establishments, some flats, and finally the exclusive restaurants and boutiques where wizards of the Malfoy’s stature went to see and be seen.

Ginny was walking slower now. In his periphery, he could see her fiery mane swishing from side to side as she moved her head to take in the unfamiliar sights. Fabulous jewels- some cursed and others not- and elegant, statuary was arranged in the broad windows of the shops. Unlike Madame Malkin’s, the robe shops in this section did not display their wares on mannequins to passersby.

Instead, the exclusive boutiques were marked with small, polished signs with wording such as : Succubus, Intl. Fashions and Tailoring for the Discriminating Witch, Hours By Appointment Only.

They continued walking. It was no more than a mile from the heart of Diagon Alley, but they might have been in a completely different world. The buildings were spaced father apart now. In between, he could glimpse the small, lush courtyards of exclusive flats.

At last, they reached their destination, The Glass Slipper.

The Slipper was house in an Edwardian building with a facade very similar to its neighbors. Like the fashion designers, it was marked with only a discreet brass plaque. Draco and Ginny had no more than stepped their foot on the bottom step when the door swung open, propelled by a uniformed servant, rather than magic.

Draco entered the restaurant and was immediately greeted by the maitre-d’, a grey-haired wizard with neatly trimmed hair and dress robes which were almost ridiculously well-starched.

“Mr. Malfoy,” He said with a deep bow, “and Miss....?”

“Ginevra Weasley.” Draco supplied.

The gentleman scribbled something with a gold-plumed quill, then stepped forward, gesturing with his arm that they should follow him behind a velvet curtain.

Draco had seen the slipped a hundred times before, and was patently unimpressed by its luxe interior (which, in his opinion, was no more than the palest imitation of the luxury in the dining room at his home). They walked past several private rooms, ending at last on a large, patio where the rest of Pansy’s party was gathered.

Beside him, Draco heard Ginny suck in her breath.

He had to admit that Pansy’s mother had out-done herself with the decorations. He wondered if he would mention them to his mother- and risk adding more fuel to the social-event arms race currently gripping the society wives that year.

The patio had been (he assumed) surrounded by the same sort of shield which protected the carpet so that, in spite of the cold winter’s night, the air was pleasantly warm and the flowers which bloomed in the gardens bedecked every table were safe from frost. Overhead, the December night was crisp and clear, with stars twinkling as though fairy lights had been strewn across the sky.

Draco’s enjoyment of the beautiful scene was truncated abruptly as a shrill, slightly nasal voice invaded his consciousness. “Draaaaa-co!” Violet Parkinson warbled, rushing toward him, an annoyed looking Pansy following close behind, obviously under duress. “Oh, I’m SO glad that you could come. I was BEREFT when I heard that your mother couldn’t make it. SIMPLY BEREFT.”

He knew that it was silly, but he had to fight the urge to wince at her barking-inflection. “She and father are in America.” He answered cooly.

“They’re...” He swallowed the words “lying low” and said instead, “taking it easy.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Violet Parkinson slid her arm into Draco’s easing him away from Ginny who (remarkably, and without any visible effort), she managed to crowd to the side, as she herded him close to her own, mortified daughter. “Well, it’s been DESOLATE without Narcissa, I must tell you, simply DESOLATE. The parties this year have been such a bore, I tell you. Everyone interesting has been away.”

“Where away equals: ‘In Azkaban’”, Draco inserted mentally.

“There haven’t even been any good weddings. I LOVE weddings.” She gushed, wedging her hip into Pansy so that her daughter was thrust, rather awkwardly, into Draco’s chest. She started to stumble, and he caught her under the arms, pulling her against him to stop from falling.

Violet sighed blissfully.

“Narcissa really MUST come back.” she said dreamily, “We’ve got SO much to talk about!”

Then, with a giggle and a swish of her skirts, she happily turned to attend her other guests.

Pansy extracted herself from Draco and murmured an apology. “Sorry.” She muttered, “Mother’s gotten quite cozy with the florist. They’ve promised her a discount on Gardenia’s in June if she can set a date by the end of the month.”

Draco snorted. It was no secret to him that a Parkinson/Malfoy match had been on Violet’s wish list since before he was even born- back then, she had clung to the hope that Lucius might still set aside Narcissa and take up with one of her frilly, toadish older daughters.

“It’s alright Pans.” Draco said easily, squeezing her shoulder, and then he turned to look for Ginny.


He found her a few feet away, standing along the wall, looking almost breathtakingly beautiful. A flute of champagne was in her hands, and she was laughing- responding to someone nearby had said. Draco sized up Ginny’s companion, instantly placing him merely from the shape of his back. Jealousy flushed his skin, and he stalked over to remove Ginny Weasley from the charming company of one Mr. Cassius Warrington.

"Malfoy, nice to see you again," Warrington said, his teeth shining white in his swarthy face as he turned a polite social smile in Draco's direction.

"Warrington." Draco's voice was practically frosted over as he acknowledged his former Quidditch teammate.

Ginny looked between them in confusion as Warrington laughed. Mustering a smile, he said, "Cassius was just explaining to me some of the history of the Slipper."

"How... Nice of Cassius," gritted Draco, shooting ocular fire at the git in question. "But I'm sure he has somewhere else to be."

Warrington smiled blandly. "No, actually, I was stultifyingly bored until I noticed your lovely and charming date had been heartlessly abandoned." He picked up Ginny's hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, making a blush rise prettily in her cheeks. "It was such a novel thrill rescuing a fair damsel, I think I'm going to have to ask her for a dance so I can prolong the experience."

Draco pulled her away by the elbow hard enough to make her stumble.
"Unfortunately for you, all of Ginny's dances are spoken for." Sneering, he continued, "But don't let us stop you from indulging your new-found instincts for gallantry. Millicent looks like she could use some company."

Three sets of eyes traveled across the room to where Millicent Bulstrode was looking awkward and uncomfortable in a dress that did absolutely nothing for her large figure, her black hair hanging limply in wilted curls. While they watched, though, her face lit up and she sat up straight, completely transformed as Blaise Zabini took her hand and brushed a kiss over her smiling lips before leading her out onto the dance floor. Warrington turned back to Draco and said,

"Well, since it seems she's now busy..."

"May I have this dance, milady?" Ginny looked at Draco over Warrington's bowed head, but just as Draco was about to say something, he was seized around the arm and dragged backwards.

"Oh, I know you'd rather be dancing with my daughter, darling, but surely you can spare a SINGLE waltz for an old and DEAR family friend, right Draco?"

Violet bore her prize off to the dance floor, his mouth forming polite phrases as his gaze promised flaming death to any swarthy gits taking advantage of the situation.

The target of his glares ignored them completely, turning Ginny away so she didn't see Draco's fulminating looks. Draco watched her laugh at something that utter bastard said, then place her delicate hand on his shoulder and flow gracefully into a waltz. He hated it, hated that she could so easily go from him to someone else, hated that she was more beautiful than anything or anyone else, with the candlelight making her eyes sparkle, her dress glittering with the rainbow light reflected from the prisms on the chandeliers, and worst or best of all, her face glowing with happiness. He gritted his teeth, his answers to Violet's constant chattering questions tapering from a monotone to mere grunts as he watched his girl enjoy dancing with someone else.

He lost sight of them for a moment, and that was enough incentive to disentangle himself from Violet's clutches and stalk across the patio serving as a ballroom, ignoring the lavish décor and the people who tried to get his attention as he sought out whatever dark crevice Warrington had lured Ginny to. She might not be everything he had thought, but dammit, she didn't know better than to trust Slytherins. Look at the way they'd gotten her to drink herself into a stupor that first night at the Snake Pit.

The thoughts that occupied Draco grew progressively more lurid, as he pictured Warrington's hands roaming over all the places that Draco had attempted to memorize, and so he was not feeling particularly diplomatic when he finally found him, standing alone in a shadowed corner. The smile he was greeted with was just the final touch to send his anger completely boiling over, and Draco snapped out, "I'd appreciate it, Warrington, if you could buy your own damn girlfriend."

A gasp made Draco look up.

Ginny Weasley was standing only three feet away, suddenly staring at him with glistening eyes.

If everything had ended at Pansy’s party, Ginny could have parted with no regrets. The cruel leer on Draco’s face as he confronted Warrington would have been the last image in her mind, and it would have strengthened her resolve if she ever began to doubt. At the party, he had been the worst version of himself: the spoiled, petulant bully that her friends had warned her about- that she herself had expected to find when he first came into her life.

Looking back, she thought that the thing that hurt the worst was that Draco hadn’t tried to take back his words, or cover what he’d said. Cassius Warrington’s eyes had gone huge, and he had stuttered an excuse to leave, but Draco had simply regarded his date with a cool, unapologetic gaze, “Are we going to dance, Weaslette?” he asked suavely, then moved to take her arm.

It took her a while to realize that he thought she hadn’t overheard. She could have played along. For a moment, it was attractive- the opportunity to simply forget, to tuck that memory away with all the other times that Ginny had felt second-hand and second-rate and otherwise tossed aside. She tried to smile, but the muscles in her cheeks refused to work. She had wanted this fantasy too badly- had wanted to believe that someone would look past the Weasley and see who she was inside- who she could become if she was given a chance.

Draco extended his hand with a flourish- a gesture which would have seemed romantic if she really hadn’t heard his words to Warrington . “I won’t ask twice.” He warned in a teasing tone.

Ginny’s fingers curled into the folds of her dress. They reached toward him.

Then, just before she met Draco’s grasp, something inside her hardened. Her hand hovered motionless mid-air. Then, without warning, it stiffened. Her palm went rigid, broad and flat as she sent it sailing through the air right toward the rakish grin on his annoyingly handsome face.

The smack of flesh against flesh carried over the muted conversations in the room, and everyone around them fell silent at once. Ginny was conscious of their gazes; cognizant their unvoiced thoughts, “Well, what do you expect when you bring one of ‘those people’ to a place like this?”, but she didn’t hold her tongue. She couldn’t. Her relationship with Draco had always been like pushing a boulder uphill. They had crossed its summit long ago. The past two weeks had been nothing but a delay of the inevitable. The downward momentum was now too strong to resist.

“I don’t want to dance with you, Draco Malfoy,” She spat, her entire body trembling with disappointment and rage and other emotions that she wasn’t yet ready to face. “I hate you! I don’t ever want to see you again!”

The object of her outburst blinked, realization dawning slowly on his pointed face. Yet, in spite of the growing red palm print on his cheek, he reached for her again, “Gin...,” his voice was thin and hollow now, “Gin, please! Wait!”

She didn’t wait. She didn’t trust herself to linger any longer. She spun around, nearly colliding with Thalia Muse as she lunged for the door and rushed out into the street.

The icy December air was like a punch in the stomach as she tumbled out into the night and continued to run. There were voices behind her: Draco, and Pansy, and Warrington, but she didn’t stop. She kept moving until the street around her had become shabby again and the leaning timbers of Flourish and Blotts, and Madame Ardrith’s Bakery wrapped around her like folds of a familiar quilt.

The shops were closed now, and there was no place to go. Even if there had been, she was in no shape to be seen. The elegant gown Draco had purchased was wrinkled and splattered with mud. Her hair was in disarray, and her cheeks were splattered with tears. Only as the effects of adrenaline began to fade did she realize that one of her slippers was gone. It had fallen from her foot as she raced away from the restaurant, and was probably lying forgotten in the gutter beside the street.

“Too bad it wasn’t glass.” She thought with grim amusement, recalling the fairy tales that her mother had read to her as a child. Like Cinderella, Ginny had trusted in an illusion to slip inside a world that wasn’t her own. Unlike the storybook princess, however, she hadn’t lasted until midnight, and she had low hopes that her slipper would be found by a prince.

Ginny Weasley had learned her lesson all too well: “Happily ever after” was just a myth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At some point it began to rain. By the time Cassius Warrington found her huddled behind a post box shivering, miserable, and wet-through, she fully intended never to speak to Draco Malfoy again- assuming that he even attempted communications.

He did.

She had barely returned to the Burrow, sneaking up the back step to avoid explanations, before an eagle-owl tapped on the window, a creamy, thick envelope clenched in its beak. She took one look at the flourished “M” impressed in its wax seal and her eyes narrowed.

It was with great satisfaction that she used an old red crayon to scrawl: “Return to Sender” on the front.

A second owl followed the second day, and was given the same treatment, and though she expected the owls to end, they didn’t. Every morning, without fail, she would find the owl waiting at her window, a heavy letter tied around its leg. It was never the same letter. The envelope was always clean and unblemished- so much so that she wondered why he didn’t resort to writing a note on the outside, or delivering the letter himself- particularly when they returned to school, but she supposed there was a limit to how far Draco Malfoy’s pride would allow him to stoop. So it continued, day by day. Each morning her curiosity grew a little bit stronger about what excuse he possibly had to give, and every night the hurt of the party panging less and less acutely.

Finally, before she realized it was the end of the year. Draco would be gone forever.

She wondered what would happen next.

Chapter 11
The Ring

Ginny ended up sitting by herself for the train ride home from Hogwarts.

Ginny and Pansy Parkinson had drifted apart after the birthday party disaster, and the older girl didn’t offer for Ginny to ride with her upper-classmen Slytherin friends. Ron, Hermione and Harry were too caught up in the excitement of being on their own to make good company. Hermione was repeating- to anyone who would listen- her plans to conduct research at the archival spells depository in Bulgaria. Her brother, Ron, was starting a broom-making internship with a craftsman there (Ginny suspected that this was more to keep an eye out for Viktor Krum than any real interest in craftsmanship, but this was an opinion she kept to herself.) The famous Harry Potter was reveling in the fact that he need never return to his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s home in Little Whinging again. He would pass the first four weeks of summer with the Weasleys at their home. Then he was joining the Plymouth Paladins Quidditch team to train as their new starting Seeker.

Most of Ginny’s other usual companions were similarly pre-occupied. Cindy Rainpuddle and Anne Greenbugg, were discussing their plans for summer jobs. Lavender Brown was gossiping about Professor Snape, and the train was barely out of Hogsmeade station before Colin Creevy and Neville Longbottom were engaged in a noisy game of Exploding Snap. They invited Ginny to join them, but she demurred. Claiming plans to read a book, she excused herself from the other Gryffindors and went in search of an empty compartment.

She found one almost at the very rear of the train. Spreading her book out onto her lap, she tried to read: “Pride and Polyjuice” by Jayne Awestone. It began:
‘It is a fact universally acknowledged that a single wizard of good fortune…’ and then, unbidden, her mind drifted to Draco again.

It had been months since they had spoken to one another, ages since their communication had been more than the morning owl, followed its almost-ritual return. Yet still, after so much time, his face came easily to Ginny’s mind, blotting her sight like an after-image caused by staring at the sun. She wondered how he held so much power. Was it the man, or the dream that he had promised- a dream of being something…more than she had or had been before?

“I had to see you again.”

Ginny blinked and shook her head, convinced that she had conjured the voice from her reminisce, but when she looked up he was there.

Draco Malfoy stood in the door to the compartment. His easy posture and luxurious robes were as impeccable and untouchable as they had ever been, but his pale, pointed face looked vastly different.

He seemed…hollow was the word that finally came to Ginny’s mind: as if, were she to squeeze through the inky pupils of his storm-grey eyes, she would find nothing but an echoing void of black, cold space. His face was taut and whiter than she recalled, so that Ginny wondered if he felt it too: the icy fingers of painful memories- almost like the Dementors which had haunted the self-same doorway only four years before.

“What are you doing here?” She didn’t mean to sound defensive, but it was her natural response. Life with six older brothers had taught her to never let a weakness show. She wanted nothing more than to bolt through the door and try to outrun the memory of hurt, but she knew that Draco barred her path. She was trapped. The only possible escape was with her tongue. “I want you to go away.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I wanted to see you again.”

“To say you’re sorry?” She made herself remember her dress- the beautiful, ruined silk- and to recall her shame: “Why don’t you buy yourself your own damn girlfriend?” , she repeated his words into her mind, hoping that they still held the power to make her hate. Draco was hard to despise when he was standing so close.

“I tried to say I was sorry,” he replied evenly, blank eyes still staring. He was holding out a sheet of parchment: another owl. “I sent a letter.”

“Letters.” She corrected.

“You sent them back.”

“I don’t care if you’re sorry.” Ginny clutched the book before her like a shield, wishing for “Hogwarts, a History” or some other more substantial tome. “It’s how you ought to feel.”

Draco merely dipped his head. They started at each other for a moment. He lifted his foot, and moved to go.

“You don’t feel enough things that you should!” She blurted, wishing she didn’t feel a need to stop him- to simply be near him for a moment longer.

“You’re wrong,” Draco stopped, turned again and met her eyes. “I feel too many things that I should not.”

Emotions she pretended not to have were welling up inside her heart. Ginny swallowed, hard- as if the action could tamp them down. Her eyes were damp.

She wanted him to go .

“Not enough, Draco.” She said quietly.

He bit his lip. The uncertain expression on his features was a look she thought never to see him wear. “You don’t know, do you?” He asked quietly.

“Know what?”

“That I…”

He took a breath, then another. Watching him, Ginny was reminded of a tree being hacked by an axe. One more stroke- one more breath- would bring him down.

“I…" There was a flash of panic in his mercury eyes, and he thrust the parchment forward. Before she could give it back, he had twisted off the sigil ring that he always wore, and was pressing it into her palm.

“I want you to have this.” He said urgently.

“I can’t.” Ginny felt a flutter of panic as the shock of his touch- cold and yet burning- almost unleashed her tears. “It’s your Slytherin ring…your family ring! It’s too…”

“Keep it.” He interrupted hoarsely, and closed her fingers around the ring, so that the twisting snakes and looping M bit into her flesh. “You deserve-”

Ginny didn’t wait to hear what he thought she deserved. She wasn’t certain it was safe to know. Finding the last reserve of her strength, she curled her fingers around the parchment, and then hurled the letter, and the ring, in Draco’s face.

He side-stepped the missile. The crumpled paper fluttered harmlessly to the ground, while the ring hit the window with a metallic clink. Draco and Ginny both watched its progress as it fell to the ground, then skittered across the floor, wobbling noisily until it stopped against the wall.

Draco didn't stoop to pick it up. He merely met Ginny's eyes a final time. "It's up to you what you throw away." He said quietly.

Then, he walked away.

Ginny sat like a statue until Draco’s figure had completely disappeared. Only then did she allow her features to fall into a weary frown.

She had done the right thing- hadn’t she? She would be a fool to give him a second- no, a third chance. Steadying her resolve, she straightened in her chair and opened Jayne Awestone again. “It is a truth universally acknowledged….It is a truth….truth….” Sighing, she snapped the book closed. She was getting a headache. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to simply rest, but that tactic failed as well. Every time she let her lids drift shut, she saw Draco’s own mist-grey eyes staring back, rimmed with desperation and unshed tears.

Exasperated, she tried looking out the window. The train was speeding through the countryside, and presented only the uninteresting sight of sheep farms, the motorway, and the occasional dingy Muggle town. She turned away from the window and looked at her hands. Finding nothing of interest which 16 years of self-observation had not already disclosed, she looked at her feet, then at the floor and, finally, at Draco’s ring.

She supposed she ought as well pick it up as not. Draco wouldn’t be back for it, and even if he was, he would never know if she’d taken it, or if it had simply been collected by the wizard cleaning the train. It seemed a shame to risk its being swept out with the rubbish. It was rather attractive- if you like that sort of thing, Ginny quickly qualified. Bending over, she swept it into her hand, and then held the ring up to the light.

It was heavy, opulent, and obviously expensive- precisely the sort of ring she would expect Draco to wear. The faint tarnish in its carved ridges gave it the air of an antique and, as she traced the swirling “M” in its centre, she wondered how long it had been in the family. Hopefully not too long, she thought as she slid it, tentatively, onto her middle finger. Knowing the Malfoys, it was probably hexed, or jinxed or cursed against being handled by common little muggle-loving trollops like herself. Any moment, she expected to sprout a second head, or find herself covered in pulsing boils. For a moment, her imagination hummed with such vivid images of the horrors in store that she was nearly disappointed when, as with any normal ring, nothing happened at all.

Ginny started to slide the ring back off, acknowledging that its presence on her finger would be a bad thing for anyone to see- much less Draco should he return for another talk, but she paused before she did, stopping to admire the way that the thick, pure metal looked against her freckled skin.

Glancing downwards, her eyes caught on the wadded paper of Draco’s letter.
Unlike the ring, it was not a valuable object that she couldn’t justify sending to waste…not valuable to anyone but her.

She turned the paper over in her hands, sliding her thumb beneath the seal, but the sudden appearance of Harry Potter and her brother in her doorway made her freeze.

“Oi! Gin!” Ron said, swishing his wand in a flowery manner to remove the trunk stashed on the rack over Ginny’s head. “Going to stay ‘til next term?”

Blinking with surprise, she realized that the train had stopped. She shoved Draco’s letter, along with his ring into the pocket of her robes, and hastily followed her brother and his friends out onto the platform at King’s Cross Station.

Her elder twin brothers, George and Fred, were waiting beside the train. Both were wearing bright green suits, and mischievous grins which suggested that they had mischief or excitement (or, knowing the twins, both) planned before the return to the Burrow that night. In spite of the turmoil that she still felt about her recent meeting with Draco, Ginny felt her cheeks tugging into the familiar curve of a smile.

“C’mon Gin.” Harry called, following the other Weasley’s through the barrier. “It’s time to go.”

She cast a finally, longing look around the station then nodded her head.

It was time to move on indeed.


One Year Later

“Well, that’s that then.” Molly Weasley was standing in her only daughter’s room, staring damp-eyed as her youngest child began unpacking her trunk from school. “Seven children sent through Hogwarts…all grown up and ready to fly away.”

As the only Weasley still at home, Ginny had heard this particular lament (which had been repeated and adapted with the graduation of each child), and she was far too weary from the Leaving Feast and the long train ride home to endure it another time.

“I don’t start classes in London until October, mum.” Ginny reminded, gently,” and I’ll be Apparating home every night.”

“No, not at first.” Mrs. Weasley wrung her plump hands, “But I’m sure that you’ll catch the eye of some young fellow and then…,” Molly paused as dual instincts: one the desire to coddle her own children as long as possible, and the other to hold a grandchild at last- warred. It must have ended in a draw, because she merely sighed. “Well, I’ll leave you to get settled now. I’ve got to see to supper. Your father will be home soon. He’s been working late all week-trying to get a warrant to search the Malfoy’s again. He’s never been satisfied since Lucius got off on the Imperius again, convinced…” Her voice grew fainter as she walked away down the hall.

When the voice was finally completely gone, Ginny turned her attention toward unpacking. She flicked her wand and muttered an incantation. Immediately, invisible hands opened the lid of her trunk, and began tucking books and clothing away where they belonged. In only a few minutes, the task was complete. She shrunk her luggage to the size of a shoe-box and shoved it under the bed. It refused to go all the way in- caught on something in the way. Annoyed, Ginny dropped to all fours and rooted under the bed with her hands until she found the wad of cloth that was preventing the suitcase’s movement. She pulled it out, then sat on the edge of the bed to examine what she had found.

It was a set of old school robes. She assumed she hadn’t missed them the past year, since they were among the most worn, and obviously several inches too short. She supposed that she ought to simply throw them away. She didn’t have any use for them anymore. She smiled a bittersweet smile. Part of her was excited to be moving to the next chapter of her life, but starting over was always hard. A line from a Muggle song, overheard in the Gryffindor dorms, echoed through her mind: “ Every new beginning is some other beginning’s end…”.

Feeling nostalgic, she leapt from the bed and strode in front of the mirror. Her eyes felt misty as she ran her fingers over the Gryffindor crest above her breast. At one point in life, house rivalries had seemed like everything. Now she was moving on. There was no “Gryffindor”, or “Hufflepuff” or “Slytherin” badge to label friends from foe.

Suddenly overwhelmed by it all, Ginny slumped her shoulders, and let the robe cascade into the floor. She was surprised when, in addition to the quiet “slussssh” of fabric against wood, there was a higher, metallic sound.

Her brown eyes scanned the floor. Then she saw it in a dusty corner: Draco’s ring.

Ginny’s stomach gave a sudden lurch as she registered what she was seeing. These must have been the robes that she had worn on the train the year before. She had searched for them once that summer. Perhaps the family ghoul (an oppressively Peeves-like specter only recently acquired because the old ghoul had refused to keep ironing and had been exorcised by her father) found it amusing to stash the garment away where she couldn’t find it. She had never forgotten Draco- or his words on the train- but she had given up hope that the ring would ever be found.

Ginny suddenly remembered something else. If the ring was there, then his letter should be too!

Forgetting the months of stubborn pride which had prevented her from reading his note before, she rummaged frantically in the pockets, letting out a long, shuddering breath as she removed a ball of crumbled parchment. She settled it onto her lap, smoothing the battered fabric.
It read:

Dear Ginny:

I always write a new owl. I don’t know why. I guess I think that if I keep writing letters, one day I’ll write something that will go through. One day I’ll discover an apology so perfect that you can’t help but open it, and believe it, and forgive me. I only know that I haven’t found it yet. Every night, I sit down and think of new ways to grovel and humiliate myself, and every morning I get a returned letter tossed in my lap at breakfast.

You’d think it would be getting easier, but its not. I’d never written a letter to apologize before you. Perhaps it isn’t the thing that’s done, but I don’t think that you would speak to me in person, so this will have to do. After you left Pansy’s party, there were things that needed to be said. There are things that you need to know before you go off into the rest of your life and leave me behind. I’m not trusting an owl. I’m putting this letter into your hands myself, and if it comes back…well then, I guess I’ll know that it isn’t meant to be.

I’ve had a lot of time to think while I wrote these letters, a lot of time to decide what went wrong and wonder how I could have made it change, but after six months of thinking, I’ve decided I’m not sorry after all. At least, I’m not sorry for what you want me to be.

I wish you hadn’t heard me say that thing to Warrington. I wish you hadn’t heard it, but I’m not sorry for what I said. I said it because its how I felt. I said it because I thought it was true. I said it because I thought that it would get me what I wanted- what I needed: you.

The problem, as I see it now, is that I should have started saying what I felt a long time before Pansy’s party. I should have picked a better time to start voicing things that were true. I ought to have picked a better way to tell you what I wanted

We had something special. I don’t understand what went wrong. I don’t understand why what we do and what we say never matches up to what we feel. When we first started talking that night in the snake pit it seemed different. It seemed free: like it didn’t matter that I was a Slytherin and you were a Gryffindor, or that you were a Weasley and I was a Malfoy. We were just friends. Then, somehow, we started being something more. I didn’t like it at first. I didn’t understand it.

It felt stupid to smile for no reason. I would overhear stories in the hall, or see items in the shop, and the first thing that I could think of was showing you and telling you about it, and to see if I could make you smile. I’d do anything to see you smile, and it makes me feel sick and weak and stupid, but I still feel it.

I wish I’d never bought that damned skirt. I wish I’d never sent that ruddy owl. I wish I’d had the courage to tell you that you were beautiful in your too-short robes and tatty jumpers and your fly away hair and kept you in the broom closet by force. I wish you’d tell me that you still liked me without my velvet and cashmere and galleons in the bank. Wishing isn’t getting, is it Weasley? I guess we both know that better than most.

Of course, I did send the owl. I sent a lot of owls, because they made you laugh when I said I wanted to know how they felt…and when I stopped sending them, you quit showing up- and what am I supposed to think? How is it fair that you teach me how to feel and then take the only thing that I want to touch away?

So maybe, in spite of all my practice, this is still a substandard apology, but at least you know its sincere. I’d do anything to take it all back and start at the beginning again, or at least to earn a second chance. You can have any part of me, and I wish you’d choose my sense of humor or my kiss or even (wishful thinking) my heart, but if you want the money, that’s okay too…because I don’t want you, Ginny. I need you, and I hate it, but its true. I need every stupid freckle, every crinkle-eyed smile, and every kiss. I know its wrong. There’s no one who would tell is that it’s a good idea…but then, maybe being happy is more important than being right. I think that it is for me.

I know that I’m botching this. It stupid and sappy and I’ll kill myself if I read it over but I have one more thing to say.

I love you, Ginny Weasley.

Please love me back.

Yours,

Draco Black Malfoy

Chapter 12
Surprises

It was little over a week after her first visit to Malfoy Manor that Ginny once again found herself standing in front of a mirror in Narcissa’s sitting room.

“Too dark.” Narcissa fussed, swishing her wand at the robes draped across Ginny’s body. Obligingly, the fabric lightened several shades. “Too clingy.” There was another adjustment. “Too loose.”

The fabric once again modified itself to suit Ginny’s figure, but Mrs. Malfoy merely rolled her eyes in disgust. “Not that one Abreyenne…what about that peach silk?”

A tall, reedy witch in plain black robes and a pair of small horn-rimmed glasses nodded her head silently. With a flick of her wand, Ginny was standing in her shift again, as the two other women moved to a trunk of garments and began quibbling over the next selection. Ginny ignored them, choosing instead to regard her own reflection in the mirror, not wanting to allow herself to get too interested in what was going on.

When Narcissa had suggested “helping Ginny pick out something to wear to the Greengrass’s luncheon” she had envisioned a shopping trip to Diagon Alley. She anticipated that Narcissa would want to patronize the chic shops near the Glass Slipper, and she knew that she could never afford them. However, she had concocted a plan. There were some lovely dayrobes at Malkin’s- a bit pricey, but she could manage. She would browse in the boutiques, announce that nothing suited her, and then make her purchase at the more familiar store. Never, in her wildest dreams had she considered that Narcissa’s designer would make housecalls- or that Narcissa would toss quite so many garments into the “must have” pile. At the rate they were going, the Burrow and all its contents would be sold at auction and she STILL wouldn’t have enough money to pay for them- a fact that she was waiting to bring up until the last possible moment.

“Don’t you have anything in sage?” Narcissa queried, sounding rather amusingly like Molly on market day when the produce didn’t suit her preferences.

“Perhaps at the shop, Madame.”

“Well then, go and fetch them.” Narcissa said rather tersely. The dressmaker nodded serenely once more. Then, with a pop, she Disapparated, along with the discarded robes.

Pulling on the yellow dress she had worn to the house, Ginny stepped down from the stool and began fingering through the pile of gowns that had been selected.

“You know…” she began nervously, “I really don’t need quite so many…”

“Of course you do.” Narcissa’s voice sounded slightly amused at the assertion. “There’s the luncheon next week. The society dinner. The debutante meetings. The pre-ball ball, the awards dinner, the meeting teas, the Parkinson’s house party….” She let her voice trail off when she say Ginny’s jaw hanging slightly ajar. “You wouldn’t want them to see you in the same robes twice!”

“Them?” Ginny asked, then said in a self-depreciating tone. “I hardly think that anyone is going to be paying much attention to me.”

“There’s where you’re wrong, sweeting.” Narcissa said. Very gently, she put her hand on Ginny’s shoulder and turned her back toward the mirror. “Don’t you know how pretty you are? And, Weasley or not-” By this point, Narcissa had used the qualification so many times that her young guest barely flinched, “You do have some of the purest blood in England- and that counts a lot with these people….and yes, I know that it doesn’t matter to you!” She sounded like Molly again- telling her children something that they didn’t want to hear. “But, if you’re going to impress their mothers, you have to-”

“Their mothers?”

“The men sweeting.” Narcissa shook her head and sighed. “You don’t think that I’ve gone to all this trouble to see you end the season without a husband, do you?”

“But-”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of the first to get engaged, actually. Its true that you don’t have much money, but that doesn’t seem to be what men are looking for these days.”

Ginny had the uncomfortable feeling that the last remark had been directed to her breasts.

“There’s going to be a lot of them at the Parkinson’s.”

“Mothers?”

“Men!” Narcissa laughed. “Rich men. Lots of men and lots of unchaperoned activities. If you don’t come back with a ring on your finger and your reputation heartily compromised I will consider myself a failure.”

“Talking strategy, are we mother?”

Ginny stiffened as a familiar drawl met her ears and Draco’s pale head poked into the room.

Narcissa flicked her gaze toward Ginny, but remained cool and unruffled. “Always, dearest.” She answered airily, walking forward to place a peck on her son’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re home. Now, run along and tell Lolly to fetch some tea.”

“But-”

“And some scones and biscuits dearest. The ones we ordered from America. Don’t let Lolly get them. She can’t reach the shelf.”

“But-”

”Good-bye, darling. Hurry back.”

Ginny listened to Draco’s footsteps disappear, feeling suddenly unsettled. It seemed slightly too obvious that Draco had just been dismissed. Her fears were compounded when Narcissa hurried toward her, looking suddenly very serious. “Ginny, dearest.”

She started-Narcissa had never called her by anything less than her full, formal name or the friendly but faintly condescending “sweeting”.

“I’m not saying this to be cruel, I’m saying it because it’s a fact- a fact that you need to understand. I’ve seen too many girls end up lonely and unhappy because they were waiting for perfection when something good was right in front of their face. This is a big opportunity. A chance to get the life you deserve. Don’t throw it away just because it isn’t perfect.”

“You make it sound so romantic.” Ginny said sarcastically.

“It isn’t meant to be romantic!” Narcissa snapped. “It’s meant to be life! It’s all very well for men and for Muggles- they can go wandering off to shops and offices and make whatever they want out of life. It isn’t the same for witches, and you know it. We may talk about equality, but when it comes down to it, the wizarding world still has a long way to go. Don’t you want to be able to send your children to the best schools that you can? To see the world? To dress them in nice clothes and never worry about money for books and cauldrons and brooms?”

Ginny was torn between anger and pain. She was mortified that Narcissa would speak so frankly- but achingly aware of the truth of her words.

“You want me to settle then, for something I don’t really want?”

“I want you to settle for something you want, but may not necessarily be your first choice.”

Ginny pressed her eyes closed, trying not to cry. When she finally found her voice, it was scratchy and strained. “Would you?” she asked quietly.

Narcissa looked away.

“No.” She admitted at last. “I don’t suppose I would.” She was silent for a moment. "Well, it appears that our designer has deserted us. Until tomorrow then, Miss Weasley." She said at last, rising to transfigure the stack of dress robes that lay strewn around the parlor into a tiny, neatly wrapped parcel with the flick of her wand and depositing them into Ginny Weasley's hand. She eyed the younger woman carefully as the package changed hands. Would she thank her, assuming that it was a gift? Would she inquire about payment? Would she admit that two of the gowns in the bag were worth more than her father made in a year?

The redhead's face was utterly placid and unreadable as she accepted the burden with a nod of her head. "Tomorrow, Mrs. Malfoy- good day." She dipped her head in acknowledgement, and then turned to the elf that would lead her to the door.

Narcissa watched her guest move away, struggling to keep the evidence of her frustration from marring her lovely face. This was her third visit with the Weasley girl, and she was still utterly at a loss of what to make of her.

She was proud. Narcissa had figured that out very quickly- no doubt that was how her son was able to overlook her less than illustrious origins. She was pretty, but Narcissa was unimpressed. Beauty was common among the purebloods- particularly those wealthy enough to send their daughters to beautification magikcans in France should the need arise. She seemed smart enough, knowing instinctively when to speak and when to hold her tongue, but there was something more- some fire in her spirit that Narcissa couldn't pin down, and the need to figure her out was getting under her skin as completely as it had infected her son.

Draco. Narcissa sighed when she thought of her son, longing for the day when all of his problems had been easily patched and mended with a sprinkle of fairy dust and a well-placed kiss. It had been easier then to see to his happiness. She was big enough to carry him over dangerous ground, wise enough to advise him on childhood spats, caring enough to enforce unpleasant necessities. Now that he was grown, however, he was harder to shelter and mold. He was miserable- it didn't take a mother's intuition to see that- yet she was helpless to intervene.

When Draco had first asked her to help Ginny with the debutante ball, she had felt a wave of intense relief. At last she knew what had some clue to the melancholy that had tainted her son since his final year at Hogwarts. She couldn't honestly say that she was pleased he had chosen a Weasley. The family was comprised of Blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers of the worst sort- not to mention their connection with Potter!- but she of all people knew that one could not always choose who they loved. At last, she felt in command of the situation: She would invite this "Miss Weasley" to tea, dazzle her with an afternoon at Malfoy Manor, tactfully slip away, and leave the rest to young hormones and Fate.

Unfortunately, everything had not gone to plan. Things had progressed beyond simple lust. Narcissa could sense, as soon as her son had appeared at the Tea, an electric crackling in the air. Memories swirled around the lovers- memories and pain, and she wondered if she was wise or foolish to attempt to intervene. It was a waste of time to simply ask Draco what was going on- he would adopt the offended frown that Lucius wielded so well and pretend offense at the very idea that he fancied the girl. Asking Ginevra was also out of the question. Uncovering the truth would be far more painstaking and time consuming than she had hoped.

So, while she waited for epiphany, Narcissa concentrated her efforts on Plan B- to discover whether Ginevra was worthy of her son in the first place. So far, the results seemed mixed.

Money was the obvious reason for a girl to fancy Draco. Of course, Narcissa was impressed with her son's good looks and sharp wit, but she conceded that she was a mother and, therefore, perhaps partial to his case. Others she was aware of had described Draco's personality with less affection, and his appearance with less grace, but no one could argue with a bank balance totaling more galleons than a dedicated fleet of shoppers could ever spend. What's more, Ginny's own poverty made the attraction all the stronger. While Narcissa had admitted herself no more than an hour before that money was an important consideration in choosing a mate, she wasn't prepared to relinquish her own son to a woman who cared more about his pocketbook than his heart.

Happily, Ginny didn't seem to fit that bill. She had allowed Narcissa to pay for the gowns- or at least she had never mentioned payment- but she hadn't been greedy or grasping or begging for more. She had appreciated the fabric and construction of the gowns, but she hadn't shown herself to be overly impressed with names. Ginevra had handled the conversation about marriage deftly as well- lobbying more for love than money, and seeing through Narcissa's own weak protestations...but if the loved him- if she really wanted Draco and his galleons, why didn't she take what he offered?

Why didn't he make her take it? Narcissa sighed with frustration again.

Draco was fighting his feelings- and for no reason that she could understand. Was he simply uncertain of, or was it something more? She was serious about the debutante ball. If Draco didn't make his move, someone else would. How could she convince him to act before it was too late?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“The Greengrasses always greet in the foyer. It’s ridiculous. The is tiny, but Maddy can’t stand the thought of someone getting into the house without her knowing and missing her chance to make a catty comment about their dress.”

Reflexively, Ginny looked at her own dress- a charming, cerulean two piece robe that was virtually impervious to cattiness. Nevertheless, she smoothed them nervously.

“They’ll be at the base of the stairs. Luncheon will be served in the parlor and drawing room on either side. We’ll want the left one. Be careful not to get separated. Stay just to my left, and a little behind. I’ll introduce you. If we lose each other, ask for the powder room and wait for me outside the door…”

Ginny bobbed her head as Narcissa barked off instructions, her head already swimming with all of the things she was meant to remember: Maddy was Lucius’s fourth cousin, thrice removed; the Kettlebottoms earned their fortune in the cauldron business; start with the outside fork and move in; don’t curtsey; speak softly; never mention chocolate-covered cockroaches around Ariana Tavington…

“You should only speak after you’re spoke to, unless the person you’re addressing is of lower social standing than you- and you came with me, so that’s everyone, so don’t bother remembering that one…napkin in your lap to eat, on the table when you’re finished- but, of course, a lady wouldn’t actually eat anything in polite company.” Narcissa continued drilling Ginny as they strolled slowly up the drive to the front of Brambleby House, her voice so intent that she reminded the young Weasley intently of a pre-NEWT Hermione Granger study-session. “Chin up, shoulders back, don’t look too happy- but don’t forget to smile. Remember, that you are a Malfoy, you bow to no one!” Narcissa ended, apparently confusing her instruction with her own internal monologue as they finally reached the door.

Ginny was certain that the house elf had seen them approach- the door had opened and closed only a few seconds earlier to admit Millicent Zabini and her mother-in-law, but it remained closed until Narcissa lifted her gloved hand and tapped lightly with the knocker against the black-painted door. Presently, it opened.

“Your card Madame? Mademoiselle?”

Ginny panicked, realizing again that she had no card, but Narcissa was prepared for this eventuality as well, producing two elegant ecru rectangles of linen paper and depositing them on a silver tray. She glided past the servant, indicating that Ginny should follow.

Brambleby House was certainly of no scale to match Malfoy Manor, but Ginny nevertheless found herself momentarily struck dumb. The “tiny” foyer was thirty feet across, backed by a broad marble staircase that spiraled four floors overhead. A heavy crystal chandelier hung down between the levels, sunlight from high windows glinting on the glass and casting tiny rainbows around the room. In her awe, she must have stopped walking, because she felt a sharp prod in her lower back, as Narcissa led her toward their hosts.

Maddy Greengrass was just the sort of woman that Ginny had envisioned from Narcissa’s earlier description. She was a broad and fleshy. It was clear that she had once been extraordinarily beautiful, but her fine, even features seemed to have sunk into the flesh of her face. She seemed not to notice, or at least account for the increase in her age. Her hair was styled in girlish curls atop her head, and the fit and style of her robes were better suited to her daughter, Daphne.

Ginny turned her attention to the young Miss Greengrass only reluctantly. She knew of the other girl, one year her elder, from their time at Hogwarts, but they had not been friends. Daphne was Ginny’s clearest stereotype of a Slytherin girl: sharp, cunning, and cruel. A bit of those traits were on display as she surveyed their unexpected guest with a sneer.

“Ginny Weasley?” She gasped incredulously, “What in the world are you doing here?”

A hundred sharp, indignant answers presented themselves in Ginny’s mind. Unfortunately, her tongue refused to cooperate. It felt swollen and dumb, failing to move in spite of her efforts, so that she was only able to croak out,” I…I….”

“Lunching, I hope!” Narcissa intervened. “That is what the invitation said. Surely you haven’t lured us here under false pretenses?” Mrs. Malfoy’s tone was light, but shaded with a vague threat that Madeline Greengrass seemed to notice- even if her daughter did not. She shot Daphne a chilling gaze.

“I believe you know my cousin, Miss Weasley?” Narcissa said with forced brightness.

“Cousin!” This time it was the elder Greengrass’s turn to cry out in disbelief.

“Oh yes, her mother’s mother was a Black. Great Aunt Denebia.” Narcissa smiled cherubically, almost daring the Greengrass women to deny her claim.

Ginny felt the panic slowly drain from her body, replaced by a faint rush of pride as Narcissa wielded her maiden name with the precision and devastation of a rapier.

Maddy regained her composure first. “Of course.” She said smoothly.

“Welcome. Such a lovely dress.”

“Where’d you get it?” Daphne chimed in, still baiting Ginny.

“Eva Slinks.” She replied, feeling almost giddy with pleasure at the reaction the designer name elicited. She relished the sensation for a moment, before her solid, middle-class Weasley conscience began to pang and she added. “Your dress is very pretty too.”

Narcissa, apparently, felt no such compulsion toward niceness. “Yes.” She purred. “It looks even better than LAST year when you wore it to the Edgecroft’s picnic. You’re finally filling out a little I think.” She gave another pearly smile. Then, with practiced elegance she turned, sweeping Ginny after her into the parlor.

The walk to the tables appeared deceptively short. It took nearly half an hour to reach them, however, as they were stopped no fewer than a dozen times by Narcissa’s “friends” and “acquaintances.” Truthfully, Ginny was uncertain how to divide them between the categories. She had been slightly shocked by Narcissa’s casual treatment of their host, and was even more so by the conversations as they moved toward the table. They were all variations on a theme: dry, cutting comments delivered with a blinding smile. It was only after several such exchanges that Ginny began to understand. The words were unimportant. It was the ritual that mattered- the Malfoy dominance being reasserted, almost comforting in its cruelty as it reaffirmed the status quo.

“Here we are, Ginevra.” Narcissa swept toward two seats that were obviously being saved for someone else. Rather than looking annoyed, however, their tablemates beamed, as if they had just been traded a Galleon for a knute.

Ginny studied their companions warily. They were two more mother-daughter pairs. The first Ginny vaguely knew- former Ravenclaw Jemima Spellman and a woman she assumed to be her mother. The second set were utter strangers- though they seemed to known Narcissa. Except for the minor changes wrought by time, they were mirror images of one another- sleek, olive-skinned beauties with glittering black eyes and chestnut hair. They chattered together in rapid French, then the mother stood to greet Mrs. Malfoy, kissing her airily on both cheek. “Ah, Narcissa!” She gushed in heavily accented English. “Comme c’est bonne!” She pecked the air again. “We had hoped to see you here. Comment es-tu? Et ton mari? Et leetle Draco.” She turned toward her daughter, arching her eyebrows in a manner that Ginny found distasteful. “Not so leetle now, eh?”

She smiled.

Ginny didn’t like her teeth.

“Lovely.” Was the only answer that Narcissa offered. She deposited herself in the chair, smoothing her robes carefully before returning her attention to the Frenchwoman. “Odile, this is Ginevra Weasley, Ginevra, this is Odile Fougere, and her daughter, Genevieve.”

Ginny dipped her head politely, as she had been taught while Narcissa continued, “Odile and I were together at school.” She paused, her eyes flickering carefully to Ginny’s face. “Genevieve, is my son’s fiancé.”

Chapter 13
The Challenge

The sudden shock and unexpected pain of Narcissa’s announcement struck Ginny like a slap across the face. Fiancé! Surely Narcissa was lying…or joking…or she had simply misheard! Her brown eyes cast rather desperately toward her sponsor, but Mrs. Malfoy’s lips were hidden entirely by her teacup, though Ginny thought she could make out a glitter in the jewel-bright eyes.

Fiancé!

The word seemed to ricochet inside her head, smarting afresh every time that it struck.

His fiancé!

“Is something wrong, Ginevra?” Narcissa had set down the teacup. She dabbed gingerly at her lips with the linen napkin.

Ginny searched her face, still looking for evidence of a lie, or some other sign that this was an awful mistake. It was not unlike when she was a girl, awaiting the denouement of another of Fred and George’s barbaric pranks.

There was no exploding wand, however, and in spite of all Ginny’s frantic wishes, Miss Fougere did not turn into a yellow canary. This was real.

Well, why should I care? She asked herself sullenly. Her fingers twisted in her lap. Ignorant, insensitive git! It serves him right. No! It’s better than he deserves- his Daddy probably bought this one. She raised her chin, determined to appear unaffected, but inside it was a losing battle. Draco. ENGAGED! Had she never meant anything at all then? Was a quick snog in the Astronomy tower the only thing that she had ever meant to be?

Recalling a few of the more memorable of those snogs, the look of unaffected superiority on her face became slightly more sincere. She turned her gaze to Genevieve, wishing that her eyes were capable of shooting firebolts in the other girl’s direction. For her part, the French girl looked insufferably smug. She was twining a plump brown curl around her index finger as she listened to her mother continue to flatter Mrs. Malfoy.

“But your skin eet looks so byoo-tee-ful!” Odile gushed. “Zee color. Ees eet a charme?”

“A tan.” Narcissa replied. “Mr. Malfoy and I have been in the islands.”

“A tan?” Mrs. Fougere recoiled. “Oh, no! Zees ees not good! Zee sun ees terrible for your skin!”

“Better than prison.” Narcissa’s lips curled up on the edges and she narrowed her eyes, putting Ginny in mind of a cat, toying with its prey.

Mrs. Fougere was, unsurprisingly, wrong-footed by the embarrassingly frank reply. “Er….yes.” She managed after a few false starts. “Which islands? Oh, you must come to Capri, I was theenking- for zee wedding.”

“It’s a bit premature for that, don’t you think?” Narcissa countered evenly, and Ginny’s heart gave a little flutter of hope. “After all, Draco can still change his mind.”

“Change his mind?”

For a moment, Ginny was terrified that she had actually spoken aloud. She was relieved to realize that it had, in actuality, been the Fougeres protesting in unison.

“You know how the contract works. Nothing is final until Draco turns twenty. If he hasn’t made a choice by then, a choice has been made for him, otherwise…” Narcissa let her voice trail off, but cast her eyes around the table. Ginny followed them: The Mrs. Fougere looking indignant, Miss Fougere looking annoyed, and the Spellmans looking as if they desperately wished to be somewhere else. Narcissa seemed to enjoy the discomfort of the rest of the table. She allowed the silence to linger painfully as she took another sip of tea, dabbed her lips once more, and then turned to her left. “I say, Odile, I’ve been remiss! Have you met Ginevra Weasley? She’s Draco’s… special friend.”

Brown eyes met Black. Genevieve’s lips spread into a thin, joyless smile, and the French girl gave Ginny a look that required no interpretation. Miss Weasley felt life return to her body as she met the unspoken challenge. Her mouth curled into a smile of its own.

The game was on.

The tension between the two girls was palpable as Narcissa began merrily chattering about something else- robes or houses, or the islands she and Lucius had visited while on the lam. A bell chimed, and the ladies who were still loitering around the room hurried to take their seats. Mrs. Greengrass stood and offered a quick greeting and then, with another tinkle of the bell, Lunch appeared on the plates before them.

It was salmon salad- an artful but rather insubstantial arrangement of fish and various greens. Ginny was vaguely disappointed not to be served anything requiring the use of a knife- then again, she assumed these ladies had been through the Debutante Introduction Luncheon several times before.

Ginny wasn’t paying much attention. She was too busy drinking in every detail about her rival.

Rival?

Where did that word come from? Ginny frowned at herself for a moment, but she quickly assuaged herself with the notion that, whether she cared about Draco or not (and she didn’t, lousy, lying, insufferable git!) , little Miss Frenchie Pants clearly needed taken down a notch or two. She stabbed her fork viciously into the salad, ignoring Narcissa’s wince.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to eat, properly?” Genevieve said in a syrupy tone too low to be overheard by the other occupants of the table. She arranged her own eating utensils carefully. She cut a tiny lettuce leaf in half, lifted it gently on the tines of her fork, then popped it into her rosebud mouth. As Ginny continued to chew sullenly, she pushed the plate away, set her napkin beside it, and said a little louder. “Oh, dear. I’m so full. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

Ginny scowled.

“My mother taught my not to waste good food.”

Genevieve smiled sweetly. “I don’t believe I’ve met your mother.” She made a show of looking around the room. “Is she here?”

Before Ginny could answer, the bell chimed again, and the chatter in the room abruptly hushed. Without a word, Narcissa quietly excused herself from the table, taking her place in a chair set on a small platform at the front of the room, next to a row of other posh, superior-looking witches. Ginny did not know all of their names but, the few she recognized had been described to her as members of the Deb Ball Organizing committee.

Mrs. Greengrass was one of them, and she walked to a small dais, whispered a sonorous charm over the tip of her wand, and then spoke, the spell amplifying her voice so that it was heard easily throughout the room, “Greetings once again, ladies. I hope that you enjoyed your lunch. As you know, today marks the beginning of an important time in your lives. Each of you has been selected, by your sponsors, to be presented this summer at the Daughters of Hecate Debutante Ball. This is a rare privilege, granted only to pureblood girls of impeccable lineage, deportment and ability…”

Ginny only half-listened to their hostess’s speech about the history and importance of the ball, letting her eyes roam the packed ballroom, taking in the faces and expressions of the other girls.

“Now, to explain more about your duties during the forthcoming weeks, I present to you Madam Mynuet Rodriguez de Orellana, chairwoman of the development committee.”

There was a polite round of applause that reminded Ginny of the sound of fish frying in oil, and another woman replaced Mrs. Greengrass at the podium.

Mme. Rodriguez de Orellana was rather stern looking witch with handsome features and steel-grey hair pulled from her temples into a severe bun. She carried a cane, although she didn’t appear to need assistance walking. It had a long, ebony shaft, topped with a crystal ball. She whacked it against the podium before she began to speak, apparently signifying that she demanded silence- even though she had already captured the undivided attention of every person in the room. Even the other committee members were sitting a little straighter in their seats as she began to speak.

She did not dwell on ceremony, sweeping the room with a glare that implied none of the girls present worthy to lick her boots she began without prelude, “You puling little princesses think that you know how to behave like ladies.” She growled, and there was a collective gasp of shock.

The surprise seemed pleasing to Madame de Orellana, and her thin lips curled upwards as she continued. “You pampered little featherheads think you know how to run a household. You cosseted little BABIES think that you know how to survive in society.” She paused for dramatic effect. “You think wrong.”

The silence that had filled the room when she took the stage grew even more pronounced as she continued. “The next eight weeks might sound like fun: Parties, dinners, dancing…but don’t be fooled. The next eight weeks aren’t meant to be about fun. They’re meant to be about education. They’re meant to be about discipline. They’re meant to be about perfection…and being perfected is never fun.”

Ginny felt a shiver run along her spine, forgetting for a moment that the woman was talking about parties and not anything that was really a matter of life and death.

“Over the next eight weeks you’ll know what it’s like to be hungry sitting in a room of delicious food. You’ll dance until your feet bleed and you’ll smile until your rosy cheeks ache. If you aren’t crying at the end of every night then I’ll know I haven’t done my job. Not all of you are going to survive…” She paused for a moment, savoring the bleak prediction. “Look across the table.” Obediently, Ginny’s eyes met Genevieve’s. “One of girls at your table isn’t going to make it…will it be YOU?” She jabbed her cane at a blonde-haired young lady at the closest table, who promptly burst into tears. Smiling ferally, she moved her attention elsewhere, to Pansy Parkinson’s table. “Will it be YOU?”

Pansy held her chin up high.

Ginny felt the hawk-like eyes burn across her own skin as they lingered on the table where she sat. “WILL IT BE YOU?” She boomed.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the question echoed throughout the room.

Finally, almost grudgingly, she continued. “A few of you…a VERY few will endure.”

Madame de Orellana twisted her lips as though she were chewing on something-probably the bones of last-year’s victims, Ginny thought.

“Some of you may even thrive…and one of you…” Her voice grew suddenly soft, causing the entire audience to lean forward in their seats. “ONE of you will be deemed worthy to wear this.”

There was a collective gasp of awe (and one or two witches who ducked) as Madame de Orellana drew her wand from her cane with a flourish and swished it in the air. A box on the ground beside her opened, and a diamond crown floated from it to hover above the crowd.

A magical glow surrounded the tiara, causing the jeweled facets to sparkle in the light as it slowly rotated, and then flew a slow circle around the room. Even Ginny was captivated by the sight.

“What is it?” She said to no-one in particular.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “It’s the crown for the Debutante of the Year, of course.” She said with undisguised disgust.

“You mean…they give out one of those every year?”

Genevieve scoffed. “They don’t ‘give them out’- the winner of the Debutante of the Year holds the crown until she is succeeded…” She gestured airily at a gorgeous brunette sitting in the same row of chairs as Narcissa. “That’s Scarlette Shankland…” She whispered, “Last year’s winner.”

Ginny nodded her head. “How do they pick who wins?”

She was answered by cruel laughter from Odile, “I hardly theenk that theese ees sometheeng your should worry about.” She said haughtily.

“Oh?” Ginny felt her skin burn as brightly as her hair, “And why is that?”

Mrs. Fougere waved her hand dismissively. “Everyone knows that my Genevieve weel be zee weener. Eet ees a Malfoy wife tradition, ees eet not?”

Genevieve preened. “Both Narcissa and the elder Mrs. Malfoy were crowned deb queens.” She said sweetly. “I’ve a tradition to uphold.”

“I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you.” Ginny said darkly, suddenly more intent on beating Genevieve than she had ever been on anything in her life.

“Oh, I don’t think I have to worry.” She made a show of buffing her nails on her sleeve. Her full lips curved into a smirk, "Que le meilleur gagne!" She whispered in challenge.

Ginny didn’t speak French, but the words needed no interpretation.

May the best woman win indeed!

Chapter 14
The Accident

"It's a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Zabini." Ginny said, extending her hand toward a seat and repeating the ritual for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. She had no idea that cheeks could ache from smiling, or how unspeakably vile tea began to taste after the three-hundred and fifteenth lukewarm sip. "Won't you please sit down?"

"Why thank you, Miss Weasley. I'd be honored." Millicent Bulstrode, now Zabini, plopped into a seat opposite Gin and flashed a cheeky grin. If she could, Ginny would have scowled. Millicent- recently freed from her own obligation to participate in what Ginny had begun to refer to in her mind as "Etiquette Death Match" by the announcement that she was expecting a child- was enjoying her torture entirely too much.

"Could I offer you some tea?" Ginny asked, tilting her head just so.

"Yes, please."

"Cream?"

"Sugar."

"One lump or two?"

“Two, please.”

Somewhere behind her, Ginny heard the smack of a cane meeting flesh, and the frightened yelp of whichever wannabe debutante had been so unfortunate as to hold out her pinky while she sipped tea. She grew steadily more tense as footsteps approached: Tap-tap-clack, tap-tap-clack, as the footfalls of high-heeled shoes were followed by the sound of the cane on the polished floor.

At last, Ginny sensed (though she didn’t dare to turn her head and look), Madame Mynuet hovering over her shoulder, and she felt the smile on her lips threaten to fade.

She had doubted the wisdom of Narcissa Malfoy’s application of Never-Frown Polish to her front teeth before they left the house, but she was grateful for it now. No sooner had her lips begun to droop than the magical paste had taken control, forcing them up to expose her gleaming teeth. “Lemon?” She asked carefully.

She avoided looking at Millicent’s face. The new Mrs. Zabini, though technically liberated from the Matron’s tyranny, could not seem to drag her eyes away from the Committee Chairwoman as she loomed over them.

Madame Mynuet coughed.

Ginny was uncomfortably aware that silence had fallen. She needed to think of a question to ask. Soon. The baby? Too crass. The wedding? Too close to the baby…

Ginny’s eyes drifted slightly to the side, trying to find something or someone to start a conversation about…and that’s when she saw it.

In the corner of her eye, she caught the quick swish of a wand, and her eyes darted instantly upwards to its wielder: one Miss Genevieve Fougere. She had time to register the satisfied smirk on her rivals face. Then, in the same second that she realized what was wrong, it happened: the teapot that she was holding exploded, spewing tea in a dozen directions- including the while linen table cloth she was pouring, the designer lavender robes Ginny had borrowed from Narcissa, and, most horrifying of all, the floor in front of Madame Mynuet.

The tea-sipping debutantes were already wound as tightly as springs. The sudden noise and excitement of the exploding teapot sent them all into instant chaos. A cacophony of voices- some laughing, some gasping, some whispering in sympathy- erupted in the crowded ballroom.

Madame Mynuet’s expression became thunderous. She shook a large fist at the broken shards of tea pot then made a move to strike the cane hard against the marble floor, demanding to be paid attention.


Unfortunately, the floor was wet. The tip of the cane slid sideways, felling the old dame like a chopped down tree.

Ginny stared down helplessly, sensing every eye in the room on her face.

Things were not going well.

*****

The walk from the Apparation point back inside Malfoy Manor was silent.

Ginny stalked up the lane on one side of Narcissa while Genevieve wisely remained on the other. The youngest Weasley could practically feel the disappointment rolling off of Mrs. Malfoy, and that sense of failure stung her far worse than any angry words or accusations. Of course, no one had seen Genevieve’s contribution to the accident. Indeed, Miss Fougere looked positively radiant as she glided toward the house, pointedly ignoring her companion until they reached the front porch.

“Who’s that?” The Frenchwoman said, tilting her head toward two gentlemen seated in the front parlor no doubt waiting for the ladies to return.

Ginny looked up at last, following Genevieve’s gesture, then gasped. She knew the visitors all too well.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my brothers,” She somehow managed in an innocent tone even as her mind was racing toward thoughts of revenge, “Mrs. Malfoy, Miss Fougere, allow me to present Misters Fred and George Weasley.”

“What the hell happened?”

Ginny winced as, no more than a minute after her brother’s introduction, Draco Malfoy barreled around the corner, confronting his mother and assembled guests.

“Draco!” Narcissa scolded, “Is that any sort of language to use around a lady?” And Ginny half expected an ‘I don’t see any ladies here’ sort of snarky reply.

She was impressed however, when the comment garnered only an embarrassed, “Sorry, mum.”

Ginny felt a pair of grey eyes burning into her skin, as hot as ash. “What happened to your robes?”

“Genevieve!” Ginny wanted to hiss, but she swallowed the name.

“Miss Weasley had an accident.” The other girl sweetly inserted. “I dare say she isn’t used to handling such delicate china at home.”

Any other time, Ginny might have felt a spark of anger, or at least of humiliation at the remark. However, watching the scarlet flush that rose almost automatically on her brothers identical cheeks, her reaction was a satisfied smirk. Mais oui, putain ,she thought, your day is almost at hand!

Draco frowned at Ginny, and for a moment she swore that he could tell what she was thinking.

“It was an accident.” Narcissa stated firmly. She dipped her head at Fred and George, “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley…” she murmured in greeting. “If you could excuse me for just a moment, we need to get Ginny out of these wet clothes.”

“Of course.” They said in unison, seemingly taken aback my Mrs. Malfoy’s hospitality. “We’ll…er…wait outside. We were in the neighborhood on business and we…erhm...thought we’d see if Gin wanted some company home.” One or the other spoke.

“How lovely.” Narcissa said, herding Ginny toward one of the elves. “Won’t you stay for dinner?”

“Can’t.” A twin answered, “Mum’s made Goulash!” he enthused, ignoring his sisters wince. At least she couldn’t see Genevieve’s face as she walked away. Thank Merlin for small mercies…


Ginny changed into one of Narcissa’s old gowns: a pale slip of silk that was too tight across the hips, too loose across the bust, did nothing for her complexion and was generally all-around depressing to wear. She made appreciative noises, however, and was soon on her way home with the twins.

“Whose the French girl?” Fred asked, swinging the walking stick that Ginny was ever-so-grateful he hadn’t taken out during their visit to Malfoy Manor.

“The competition.” Gin replied, “Draco’s fiancé?”

She didn’t realize that she had said anything out of place until she saw that George’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. “The competition for the Deb Ball!” She corrected quickly. “She’s trying to make me lose!”

“Lose?” Fred said, intrigued, “It’s a contest?”

“Merlin, yes!” Ginny said, astonished that they could be so naive. “There’s dances and classes and…” She noticed that she had lost their attention, and so she stopped.

Fred used his cane to lift the hem of the borrowed dress, “Looks like you didn’t get off to such a stellar start.”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Ginny hissed, and before she knew it, the story of Genevieve’s sabotage came tumbling out. At last she finished, and gave them both a piercing look, “You two wouldn’t be interested in helping me plot revenge?”

“Revenge?” Fred asked, feigning innocence.

George’s lips spread into a feral grin. “Always.”

..ooOOoo..

“Ginny dear, can you get that?”

Ginny nodded to her mum and pushed away from the table, almost grateful for a reason to leave her plate. Goulash might not be quite the sort of meal one would “dine” on at Malfoy Manor, but delicious nevertheless. If she kept eating, she was going to have to unbutton her pants.

“I wonder who that could be…” Arthur Weasley was remarking as his daughter left the kitchen to answer the front door. She was wondering the same thing.

No one that the Weasley’s knew would be calling so late.

In spite of all the possibilities that flickered though her mind as she walked, none of them prepared her for the truth.

“D-Draco?” She stuttered when she answered the door, whispering thanks that she hadn’t unbuttoned her pants after all.

“Last I checked.” Came the sardonic reply.

“W-why are you here?”

“Unhappy to see me?” He took a step closer. The action, taken by any other person would have been an invasion of personal space, but Draco’s closeness only made her skin go hot. “N-no…It’s just…its just a surprise.”

She waited for him to announce some purpose. When he merely stared at her, looking like he was going to kiss her at any second, she took a step back.

"I just thought you'd like your dress... Although, of course, if you choose to go without it, I have no objections."

“My dress?” Ginny asked, but then he waggled the formerly tea-stained garment in front of her face.

“Couldn’t you have sent an owl?”

“All off on very important Deb Ball business.” He had stepped against her again. His skin was no more than three inches away, and she could feel his breath against her cheeks.

“Couldn’t it have waited?”

He dipped his head toward hers. “You tell me…” he breathed against her ear, and then his lips closed over hers.

Ginny didn’t have time to take a breath. The lack of oxygen, combined with the always dizzying effect of his miss made her feel like she was drowning in bliss.

“Gin?” Molly Weasley’s voice made her jerk away. “Who is it dear?”

“It’s….er….” She looked at Draco, helplessly.

“The….er….” he shrugged.

“They had the wrong house!” Ginny said, loudly. Then froze as the ridiculousness of this statement.

“The…what?” Arthur Weasley’s voice sounded concerned, and she heard his chair pull away from the table.

“Run!” She hissed at Draco. Then, laughing, she took his hand and dragged him into the night.

It was perfect. Of all the hours of the day, twilight had always been her favorite, and this night epitomized the reason that she loved it. The stars were beginning to peep through the veil of black, and the crickets and toads and pixies had begin a low, screeching song to the night. Around them, fairies drifted lazily through the branches of the trees, wafting on the jets of air that were neither warm nor cool, scented with the heavy perfume of half-closed buds.

She ran to the far end of the garden where the branches of a willow shielded them from the house.

“What was that about?” Draco asked.

Ginny leaned her back against the trunk of the tree. “I don’t know.” She answered. “You tell me.”

She had hoped he wouldn’t answer with words, and Draco didn’t disappoint. He moved against her, sliding his body into the curves and hollows of her own, skin flush, and then bent his head to renew his attentions to her lips. He kissed her eyes and cheeks and ears, then began working his way down the slender column of her neck.

“Gin…” He breathed against her hair. “We’ve wasted so much time…”

She nodded but didn’t voice a reply. Instead, she curled her fingers in his short, pale locks.

“We were so daft…” he moaned against her collarbone. “It has to end.”

She dipped her head in agreement. “You have to give this craziness up.”

“What?”

Ginny stiffened, suddenly confused.

“Mmmmmm…..” He was licking the neckline of her robes, tracing the very lowest edge of exposed skin, and didn’t sound inclined to stop.

“What do I have to give up?”

He sighed and raised his head. “The deb ball.” He answered, jerking his head in the direction of the robes, which he still held clutched in his hands.

“You don’t have to tell me what went wrong for me to know that tea-stained robes on the first day aren’t a good sign.”

“It was an accident!” Ginny replied indignantly.

“So my mother says…”

A reply was on the tip of her tongue, but she was interrupted by the opening and closing of a door.

“Ginny?” Fred’s voice called. “Where are you?”

She rolled her eyes. There was really no point trying to hide from Fred and George. “By the Willow.” She called back, then turned to tell Draco to stay, but she was too late. He had already drawn his wand. With a soft *pop* he had Apparated away.

“What was that about?” The twin said as he approached his sister under the tree. She was motionless staring at an empty point in space. “Was that the Ferret out here with you?”

“Mmmmm…” she mumbled in reply.

“What’d he want?”

“He was returning my dress from this afternoon.” She answered dreamily.

“Well, where it is then?”

Ginny blinked. He had forgotten to leave it behind.
..ooOOoo..

Narcissa Malfoy’s owl the next morning was something of a shock.

Ginny had expected a mention of what had happened the day before- hopefully encouragement, but possibly an expression of displeasure. She would not have been surprised with a simple note informing her of the next days activities- and on that score, the parchment basically fulfilled her expectations. She was, however, astounded by the words penned beneath the signature in Mrs. Malfoy’s elegant script:

P.S. Tomorrow morning we’ll begin dance lessons, so you’ll need to bring a male escort. I’m afraid that Genevieve’s already spoken for Draco. Please use discretion, dear.

A male escort. Ginny groaned, realizing that she had no choice apart from her brothers. Ordinarily she might have convinced Harry Potter to accept the task, but he had been uncommonly sulky since Ginny had begin spending time with the Malfoy’s, and she didn’t want to give him the chance to turn her down. There was simply no other choice.

She would have to take one of the Weasley boys.

Narrowing the field was easy.

Bill was in South America, helping the local wizards unravel some extra-complicated Inca Curse. Charlie was with his dragons in Romania again. Percy would have done almost anything for a chance to pass the afternoon with the debutantes- not that he was particularly interested in the girls themselves, but it would give him infinite pleasure to recount the event later in a loud voice that was meant to be overhead, “ When I was at Rookthrush Grove last Wednesday…..” but he was tied up at the Ministry.

It had to be Ron. He wouldn’t be any happier than Harry about it, but at least she could ply him with guilt. She fixed her hair and robes, then flooed to his flat in Diagon Alley and cornered him over his toast.

“No!” Ron said loudly, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

“But Ron, I need you!” Ginny whined, stealing a triangle of bread and slathering it with butter. “We’re all meant to have dates, it will only be half an day.”

“What will only be half an day?”

Ginny and Ron groaned simultaneously as their twin brothers appeared at the kitchen door.

“You look fetching, sister-mine.” George purred, lifting her hand to kiss it as he inserted himself into a chair.

“Don’t you have a flat of your own?” Ron growled, edging the plate toward him.

Fred (or possibly George) scooted it back and took two pieces of toast.

“Sure, little bro.” He said, as his twin reached around and took the last two slices. “But we don’t have toast.” He slathered marmalade onto a bite and popped it into his mouth. “So Gin, what’s only going to be half a day?”

She tried to think of a lie. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her brothers- quite the contrary- but Narcissa’s note had advised specifically “use discretion” and the term discreet could, in no way shape or form, ever be used to describe the twins.

“Her stupid Malfoy lessons.” Ron supplied, in a derisive tone before Ginny could cut him off. “Dancing class or some such. She’s meant to bring a date.”

“But I’ll find someone!” She said quickly, reaching for her bag. “In fact, Neville Longbottom mentioned that…”

“No need to bother Neville!” George said, “What’s a brother for, if not to help his sister in her hour of need?”

Fred gave his sister a significant look. “Indeed, sister-mine. Weren’t you discussing the need for certain…assistance…only yesterday?”

“Its…er….really quite alright.” Ginny assured them. “I wouldn’t want to put you to the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.” Fred said. “We love to dance.”

“Adore it!” George agreed.

Ginny closed her eyes, trying not to shake with horror at the memory of Yule Ball during her third year. Yes, she had seen Fred and George dance. “I really think Neville would be better.” She persisted. “And besides, I was really only supposed to bring one…”

“Someone will probably forget.” Ron chimed in, unhelpfully.

“Can’t leave the lovelies without partners.” Fred said.

“But-“ Ginny could already tell that she was losing the battle.

“Besides,” George continued before she could finish her protest. “No one needs to know that there is more than one of us.”

“But you don’t have time to change.” She said desperately, then rolled her eyes as, with the crack of a wand, the twins were both clothed in their green dragon skin suits.

“Always prepared.” George said.

Ginny felt her stomach begin to sink as she was outmaneuvered by the twins yet again.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it as her brothers hooked their arms through her own and began escorting her to the door.

“Our victims await.” Fred said as he withdrew his wand.

Ginny certainly hoped he was kidding.

Chapter 15
LuftSchokolade

“Why Mr. Weasley…and Mr. Weasley…” Narcissa’s voice wavered slightly as she watched George Weasley shrink himself to the size of a pixie and then was dropped into his brother’s breast pocket, “what a pleasure to see you again.”

Narcissa sounded mostly sincere.

Ginny was impressed with her self-control. Perhaps etiquette lessons would prove useful after all.

Fred made a sweeping bow to the mistress of the manor, and then stood again as Genevieve and Draco rounded the corner. The French girl didn’t bother returning his greeting. “Oh, you’ve brought your brother Ginevra.” She said in a honey-sweet voice. “How very quaint…” Her tiny gloved hand was resting lightly on Draco’s shoulder.

Ginny glared.

“Most girls bring their brothers.” Narcissa said, cutting off any further remarks. “And we had best not stand about debating the point. We’re almost late…and you know what Madame says about tardiness…”

“Tardiness is disrespectful to yourself and others” Both Ginny and Genevieve parroted back in harmony, surprising themselves with the speed at which the dowager tiger’s words sprang to their lips.

They left the house together and walked to the Apparation point, rematerializing a few minutes later at Shadowbarrow Hall.

Fred made a whistling sound as they entered the ballroom of the house. Wizarding society’s most eligible young Misses were ranged all around the sides. In the center of the room stood a slightly smaller group of set-upon-looking young men. Fred and Draco went to join them.

“Can your brother even dance?” Genevieve asked after the boys were gone. “I’d hate for you to lose point standing on his account.”

“I’m sure.” Ginny growled under her breath.

“Ladies? Ladies!” Mrs. Zabini (the elder) was wandering past the girls, trying unsuccessfully to convince them to pipe down.

“SILENCE!!!!!” The voice of Madame Mynuet boomed through the hall, accompanied by the loud rapping of a cane. The command was instantly obeyed.

Narcissa gave her ‘girls’ a wary look and shooed them back against the wall as the formidable chairwoman began stalking past their neat row, nearly daring them to make a peep.

“Thank you for remembering to invite a guest to today’s gathering. And to those of you who did not…”

Ginny felt her stomach twist as, even without speaking a punishment aloud, Ginny’s mind automatically assumed the worst.

“We will first announce the current standings. In third place, Miss Su Li…”There was a polite round of applause and a low murmuring from the crowed. “In second place, Miss Catherine Slater…” Ginny felt her heart begin to lift. If Miss Slater was in second then Genevieve couldn’t have beaten her, unless… “And currently in the lead, Mademoiselle Genevieve Fougere.”

Ginny felt color rising to her cheeks, although she wasn’t sure if it was anger, shame, or a combination of both. Her first instinct was to glance at Genevieve- a mistake. The smug smirk on the French woman’s lips made Ginny’s fingers twitch with the urge to slap it off.

Across the ballroom, where the men had gathered, she noticed Draco turned in her direction, watching with interest. She pointedly avoided his gaze. His sympathy (or worse, his look of vindication) would be even harder to bear. Luckily, Madame began to speak again. “Of course, this is a preliminary tally.” She said in clipped tones. “There’s still plenty of time for all of you to make fools of yourselves.”

No one dared to laugh.

“Now girls, gentlemen...If you would. We’ll arrange into couples.”

Genevieve took a step toward Draco, but was stopped by an angry crack of the cane against the floor. “And where do you propose that you are going, Miss Fougere?” Madame growled.

Genevieve blinked, utterly mortified to find herself the sudden center of attention. “To...to find my date.” She answered.

“You don’t have a date yet.”

Ginny felt a surge of satisfaction at the look of shock that claimed her face,“But Mr. Malfoy...”

“...is your contribution to the pool.” Madame finished for her, looking as though she enjoyed bringing the younger woman down a notch or two, whether she was in the lead for the crown or not. “Now go and stand against the wall.”

Looking very sulky, Genevieve did as she was told. Only when she had resumed her station next to Ginny did Madame begin again. “Now.” She said, narrowing her eyes, “If there are no further interruptions...” There were none. “Good. Gentlemen, please return to the ladies that you arrived with.” She waited until this too had been done, “Now then. The art of introduction is, in my opinion-which for your purposes is the only one that matters- a neglected art. I don’t hold with young people these days, wandering off onto balconies with perfect strangers.” She cast her gaze along the line of young people, making each of them feel as if they personally had committed this offense. “Who are their parents? Are they trustworthy? Are they unattached? In my experience, a great deal of hurt feelings and ruined reputations could be avoided if the proper protocols are observed....now...” Her eyes skimmed the line again. Ginny felt a shiver run along her spine, and knew that it was shared by everyone under the scrutiny of the dark brown gaze. Like prisioners ranged before a firing squad,they were waiting to see which one would be shot. “You!”

It was Genevieve, and not Ginny who took the bullet. Rather than showing fear, however, the frenchwoman merely lifted her chin and answered. “Oui?”

“Since you were in such a hurry to return to Mr. Malfoy, you may go first. Come here, both of you.”

Tucking her arm through Draco’s Genevieve led him to stand next to Madame Mynuet.

“And you.”

Ginny flinched. Madame would never do anything so crass as point, but the dark eyes were fixed on her.

Copying her rival’s slightly defiant pose, she obeyed, standing where she was directed- facing Draco.

“Now, Miss Fougere.” There was a wild sort of gleam in Madame’s eye. “Introduce Mr. Malfoy to Miss...Weasley, was it?” Ginny dipped her head, not certain if Madame knowing her name was a good thing or not. Madame looked at Genevieve. “What does Miss Weasley need to know about Draco? How can you give a fair yet gracious and concise description of the other to each of them?”

Genevieve gave Ginny a patronizing smile, clearly thinking that this was all too easy. “Miss Weasley,” She said in a syrupy tone. “Please allow me to introduce Mr. Draco Black Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy’s estate it in Wiltshire, though he will be moving to France shortly to head a new company with my father. Mr. Malfoy, this is Ginevra Weasley. She’s...” There was a long pause, during which the brunette let her eyes travel slowly over Ginny’s body, disapproval positively radiating from her eyes as she pretended to search for something interesting or complimentary to say about the girl. “I hear her mother can do marvelous things with second-hand robes.”

There was a shocked murmur from the crowd.

Ginny’s first impulse was to slug her rival in the gut. She refrained. Madame was terrifying, but fair. Surely she wouldn’t let Genevieve escape unchastened for her rude behavior? To Ginny’s astonishment, however, Madame seemed utterly nonplussed. In fact, she was smiling. “Excellent, Miss Fougere.” She commented, “Mr. Malfoy,now that introductions have been made, it’s your turn...Won’t you ask Miss Weasley to be your partner for this afternoon’s dance?”

The look of dumbstruck horror that siezed Genevieve’s perfect features more than compensated for any humiliation that she had cost Ginny. Miss Weasley’s sense of consolation only increased when Draco reached forward to take her hand. "Miss Weasley," he said in a formal, yet playful tone, "Might I request the pleasure of your company this afternoon?" Ginny saw the dark, petulant scowl on Miss Fougere’s face, and thought she glimpsed a bit of triumph on Madame Mynuet. “Tolerable.” The older woman said, speaking the words in the tone of a begrudging compliment. “And now…Miss Weasley- Have you brought someone?”

Oh, no! In a heartbeat, all of the happiness Ginny had been feeling about Genevieve’s miscalculation was gone. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to throw her rival to the lions (or, as it were, to the twins). It was simply that she had hoped to extract her revenge in a more subtle means. She shuddered to think of what they might do, especially now that they had been provoked again.

“Miss Weasley?” The chairwoman was staring at her curiously, waiting for a reply. She was about to say that she had forgotten when Fred slid into place beside her, “Here I am, sister-dear.” He said with a broad smile. “Won’t you introduce me to this loooooovely young lady?” He asked suavely as he bent at the waist. He reached forward for the lady in question’s hand, dotting its palm with a rougish kiss before she could grab it away. Of course, he was bowing to Madame Mynuet instead of Genevieve. It seemed as if the entire ballroom was holding its breath, waiting for the hammer of Madame’s wrath to fall…but nothing happened. She stared at the Weasley boy slightly stunned by his boldness. Then, to the shock of all assembled, she began to laugh. Her rich, throaty chuckle filled the hall for a moment before she withdrew her hand, gave him a cheerful wink. “That will be enough of that Mr…?”

Don’t say Weasley, Don’t say Weasley, Don’t say Weasley! Gin repeated in her head.

“Fred Weasley.” He flashed his cheeky grin, “Gin’s brother.”

Madame nodded, “Very well. Miss Weasley, you will introduce Miss Fougere to your brother as a suitable date.”

“No!” Genevieve pouted at once, “I won’t do it! I didn’t come to England to flounce around with…with…peasants!”

“Then you should cease acting like one.” Madame replied. “Perhaps if I deducted twenty points from your total score, you would remember your manners?”

The French girl fell silent, though her cheeks continued to flame with swallowed rage.

“Now.” Madame cast her eyes around the little group, virtually daring one of them to make a peep. “Miss Weasley, the presentation please.”

“Certainly.” Ginny said, adopting the same spun-sugar tone that Genevieve herself had used. “Miss Fougere, this is my brother, Fred Weasley. Fred and his twin, George run a very successful business enterprise in Diagon Alley.”

Genevieve sniffed loudly, but when Madame’s eyes began to narrow, she covered the sound with a sneeze.

“Fred,” Ginny glared at the other girl, but continued her introduction, “This is Miss Genevieve Fougere. Miss Fougere hails from France.” There was another sniff. “And she appears to be catching a cold.

Madame sighed, but made no further comment. She turned to the rest of the group. “There now, you’ve seen how it’s done. Everyone form pairs. Hurry up!”

The ballroom sounded like a hive of honeybees as the gentlemen and ladies swarmed around each other, selecting partners and separating into groups. Ginny wasn’t sure if Madame had released then yet, and so she hovered close, as did Fred and a thoroughly misereable Miss Fougere.

“Now, if the gentlemen would present their tokens…”

Ginny felt her stomach clutch. She recalled, vaguely, a lecture during one of the boring luncheons on the topic of “Graceful receipt of gifts.” Madame had mentioned that, when dancing lessons began, all gentlemen would offer their escort some minor trinket as a momento of the date. She hadn’t given it a second thought when she had invited Fred and George.

Ignoring Draco and his proffered rose corsage, she turned to Fred. “I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, unperturbed by the notion of Genevieve’s remaining giftless, but mortified by the almost certainty that she would interpret the gesture (and repeat it for anyone who would listen) as a demonstration of the Weasley’s limited means.

Fred waved Ginny aside. “Not to worry, little sis.” He said, reaching into his coat pocket and, miraculously, retrieving a gold-foil box. It was a half-pound ballotin of sweets bearing the impressive, embossed label: F&G Premium LuftSchokolade . “Always prepared.” He said, as though he were stating a mantra. He repeated the fanciful bow that he had offered Madame Mynuet and extended the chocolates to Genevieve. “For you, my lady.” He said in a courtly voice.

“I am not your lady!” Genevieve said in a disgusted tone. She plucked the box from his hand, holding it pinched distastefully between her fingers as though it were the carcass of a rat. “As if I would eat chocolates.” She huffed, “For one thing, no one’s heard of…” she scrunched her nose at the impressive-looking box, “’F&G LuftSchokolade’…and even if I had, I certainly know better than to eat something that would go directly to my hips.” She smiled darkly at Gin, “Obviously, none of the Weasley’s have figured that out.”

Ginny bit her lips to keep from snapping back. Madame was still too close by to risk a real retort (although Genevieve seemed to harbor no such qualms). Happily, the Matron began moving again, clapping her hands to gain attention. “Very well, settle down.” Her voice boomed through the hall, “You should all have partners by now.” She twisted the top off her cane and extracted her wand, muttering a charm that made an orchestra appear on the balcony above. A waltz began to play. “If you are ready, we’ll begin the dancing now. Gentlemen…ladies…I remind you that you are being judged…”

Ginny almost felt sorry for Genevieve.

Almost.

If the girl had shown even a hint of kindness or mere good manners Ginny might have been inclined to call her brother off. As it was, she was able to quash her guilty feelings and take just as much pleasure as anyone else in watching Fred Weasley bring the French girl’s dreams of debutante glory to ruin.

It was a little bit sad, and (from a disaffected viewpoint) extraordinarily unfair that Genevieve should have one of the twins for a partner. She was an exquisite dancer, her tiny feet moving gracefully as her body swayed and whirled in perfect unison with the music. Fred Weasley was…not.

Even at the best of times, the twin’s dancing abilities would be most delicately described as “unique”…and this was not the best of times. In addition to the bruised toes that Genevieve was likely to have after two dances with one of the Weasley boys, she was in constant danger of an eye gouging or being knocked unconscious by flailing limbs. The other couples gave them a wide-berth as Genevieve’s was hurled across the floor. After the first set was finished, as the other girls stood by the walls and clapped politely, or sent their partners in search of lemonade, she chose the only sensible course of action available.

She fled.

At least, she tried to flee. Watching from the far side of the room as she waited for Draco to return with a drink, Ginny saw her rival skillfully shed her older brother on the pretext of a trip to the lavs. She seemed to be making a break for the garden, but she ran almost directly into her brother George.

The look on Genevieve’s face was priceless. She must have forgotten that her “date” had a twin. George did nothing to refresh her memory. When she turned around, Fred had disappeared, and then, making her torture complete, the music began again.

If Fred was a bad dancer, George could best be described as horrific. Genevieve’s feet were joined by the punch table, the curtains, and the elf playing cello as victims of what looked more like a dance floor rampage than a waltz. Genevieve wasn’t even granted relief between songs. Since the music had nothing to do with George’s dancing, he didn’t see the need to slow down when it stopped. When she finally managed to break away,well…there was Fred again.

It was a vicious cycle- one that Ginny (comfortably ensconced in Draco’s arms and thrilled to find that he was an excellent dancer- so skilled, in fact, that it masked her own somewhat neglected skill so that they appeared to be the most talented couple on the floor) was enjoying immensely. But, as with all good things, this too came to an end.

The music stopped.

“Lunch!” Madame Mynuet’s voice rose to fill the silence. Obediently, the debutantes and their dates scrambled toward the tables and chairs that had been set up in the garden.

“Fred!” Ginny waved toward her brother, trying to catch his attention. “Will you sit with us?” She asked brightly. Then, remembering her manners, turned to Genevieve and added grudgingly, “You can come too.”

“I’m not hungry.” Genevieve sniffed, turning on her heel. She paused long enough to shoot back a parting remark, “And if you’re planning to fit into whatever flour sack your mother’s managed to transfigure for the ball, you’d better think about skipping too.” And then she flounced away.

Draco gave Ginny’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re perfect.” His whispered against her ear, just in case she had given the insult a second thought.

She would have whispered something equally endearing back, but Fred, and the newly resized George were both sticking their tongues out and pretending to gag.

“Let’s get a table.” Ginny said instead.

Lunch was a pleasant affair. Draco and the three Weasley’s found a table in the shade of a rose arbor. The light summer breeze, combined with the perfume of flowers, the absence of Genevieve, and the delicious, if sparing meal was immensely pleasant. In spite of her qualms about bringing the twins, Ginny was enjoying herself more than she had at any of the other Debutante events.

Even Madame Mynuet (to whom George Weasley was paying a suspicious amount of attention), seemed to be in high spirits. She stopped by the table and, after being introduced to the twins as the proprietors of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, inquired after the possibility of obtaining some canary creams. They lingered over coffee. Then, drowsy and full, everyone returned to the ballroom for brief instruction on the proper acknowledgement and thank-you for a date before the lesson was dismissed. Ginny, Draco and the twins had just settled into their chairs when they heard it.

Coming from the entrance hall there was a blood-curdling shriek.

Chapter 16
Confessions

There was a stampede into the foyer as everyone rushed to see what had caused the scream. Ginny, Draco and the twins hurried after the others, running into the front hall to find…

Nothing.

Ginny, along with everyone else turned to each other staring in puzzlement, and a low murmur broke out as people argued about where the noise had come from and what it had seemed to be. Narcissa Malfoy, Madame Mynuet, and the other chaperones had entered the room as well. They were huddled together, discussing something in quiet tones, while their eyes drifted around the room. Ginny watched Draco’s mother’s face carefully, following her clear blue eyes as they scanned the hall.

It was Narcissa who saw it first. Finding the entry empty, her gaze drifted up the circular staircase, to the landing, up to the second floor, and then the third, and then…

Her hand clamped over her mouth. Noticing her change of expression, Ginny looked up. At the same moment, her actions were copied by the people around her, the repetition of the gesture fanned out through the crowd until everyone was staring at the ceiling in disbelief.

“Fred and George Weasley, I’m going to kill you.” Ginny growled under her breath, wanting to act on the threat right away, but too stunned to even move, “I’m going to kill you so dead that there won’t be enough left for mum to send a Howler to before you’re buried.” She simply couldn’t believe the magnitude of what they’d done.

At first, Ginny thought that a cluster of helium balloons set out for the party had come untethered and floated to the ceiling, but the shape pressing against the ceiling was far too vast to be a cluster of balloons.

It was Genevieve.

Swollen grotesquely to ten times her size, she was clinging feebly to the chandelier with one set of thick, sausage-like fingers while the other tried, vainly, to pull her now insubstantial skirt down over her now inadequate knickers.

“What did you do?” Gin asked coldly.

Fred and George threw up their hands in protest, “Nothing!” They declared at first, but quickly broke down under scrutiny. “She said she didn’t like chocolates!” George protested.

“Yeah!” Fred concurred with his brother, “And besides, they’re just meant to be a little prank for girls that moan about sweets going straight to their hips. To get that big…why, she’d have to have eaten the whole box!”

Draco started to laugh at Genevieve’s predicament, but was stopped by a sharp look from his mum. Narcissa had already started up the steps, followed closely by another chaperone, while Madame Mynuet began herding the debs, and their escorts out the door.

“Can you make it back alone, Gin?” Fred asked, still cowering a bit under his little sister’s glare.

“Fred and I need to stop by the shop and check on a new shipment.” George explained, shifting his weight as if he was desperate for escape.

“I’ll be fine.” Gin assured them, while thinking to herself, unlike how you are going to be when mum hears about this. Before she could say anything else, they hugged him briefly then Apparated away.

Draco was still standing beside her. “Are you coming back to the Manor?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” Ginny responded. “I don’t know if your mother had any plans. In any event, Genevieve won’t be in any shape to…”

“I wasn’t talking about Genevieve…” Draco said, looming suddenly very close, “And I wasn’t inviting you over for etiquette lessons.”

“Oh.” Ginny felt a little shiver run along her spine. Although the front lawns were mobbed with young witches and wizards heading off in their own directions, she felt as if they were all alone.

Draco looked over his shoulder. “Mum’ll be a while.” Draco said in a low whisper, “And Dad’s got meetings in France.”

“All day?”

Draco shrugged, “It’s a big house.” He murmured, still standing so close that she could feel the heat of him through her robes. “I imagine we could find some place to hide.”

It was the look in his eyes that was finally Ginny’s undoing. They were smoky and dark, like the silver swirls of a Pensieve and were regarding her with a shattering intensity.

“Well…I don’t see why not.” Ginny managed at last. She was surprised that she could talk. She didn’t think that she had even remembered to breathe.

Draco nodded his head. Tucking his arm around hers, he led her to the Apparation point on the edge of the lawn. “Ladies first.” He said, standing slightly away.

Ginny Disapparated, reappearing on the lawns of Malfoy Manor. The weather in Wiltshire had taken a turn for the worse. Dark stormclouds boiled overhead. As soon as Draco arrived, Ginny grabbed his hand. “It’s going to rain!” She said, tugging him toward the house, but no sooner had the words been spoken than the prediction became true.

“Run!” She shrieked, laughing as the first, fat drops splattered on her dress, marring the thin silk and matting it to her skin. Neither of the pair thought to cast a shielding charm. Instead, they ran pell-mell toward the house, becoming progressively more bedraggled as they neared the door.

Finally, when they were inside, they stopped, both soaked to the skin, breathless and exhilarated from their run. Ginny bent over, brushing some of her damp hair out of her eyes. She was surprised when she stood and found Draco staring at her giving her the same, oddly intense look as before.

“What is it?” She laughed, putting a hand against her cheek, imagining her ruined makeup and stringy hair, “I look a fright, don’t I?”

“No.” Draco breathed. He took a step forward. Instinctively, Ginny moved back, but found herself pressed against the wall. “You’re perfect.” He breathed. Then he bent forward to press his lips to hers.

Suddenly, the rain streaming down Ginny’s skin felt like wax dripping from a candle. She was melting, burning…It had only been a few days since Draco had last kissed her, but she felt the omission keenly as he reminded her of what she had been missing. Moving without conscious will, her hands clasped round his neck and dragged him closer, deepening his touch.

She could have stayed like that forever, but it wasn’t meant to be. Footsteps echoed in the marble hall, and she pulled away just seconds before they entered the room.

“Draco Malfoy!” Lucius’s voice boomed out. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you for the past half hour!”

Draco turned automatically to his father, the bliss of the snog evaporated, leaving only a clammy pang of dread as he turned to face his father.

“Er…Mr. Malfoy!” Ginny squeaked, “I was…just leaving!” She dipped her head, and then backed her way out of the house, not caring that it was still raining as she raced to the Apparation point, leaving Draco to face his father alone.

Lucius followed her with his eyes, not pulling them away until the distant “pop” from across the lawn announced that she was gone.

“We need to talk.” He said to Draco, his tone and posture betraying nothing as he turned back towards the hall.

Draco accepted the unspoken order to follow, stepping behind his father’s long stride until they reached the study. Draco sank into an armchair opposite the desk, while Lucius stood to pour two glasses of bourbon and offered one to his son.

“I didn’t notice Miss Fougere returning to the Manor.” He remarked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Draco felt his heart begin to thud nervously in his chest. What was his father implying? It was on the tip of his tongue to make a response when Lucius continued, “She’s with your mother still, I suppose?”

“Yes sir.” Draco mumbled, still not at all sure where this was going, but damn near dead certain that he wasn’t going to like it.

“Delayed, I suppose?”

The insinuation in his voice was unmistakable, and Draco braced himself, knowing that the shoe was about to drop. Lucius knew. Someone had told him what happened at the party.

“Mrs. Fougere had an owl.” Lucius explained, “…or so I was led to believe by her husband. He flooed me at my office about half an hour ago to inquire just what the hell was going on today at that party.” He paused, giving his son a disapproving scowl, “A question which I am now inclined to pose to you.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it!” Draco protested, jumping to his feet. “I barely even spoke to her.”

“Precisely.” Lucius retorted. “Tell me, Draco- don’t you think that you are taking playing along with your mother’s little game a bit too far?”

“Mum’s game?” Draco blinked, confused.

“Miss Weasley.” Lucius said, “I am aware of the role that she and her brothers played in Miss Fougere’s little…’accident’. Tell me: Do you think that it is kind to her for you to encourage her fantasies about something she can’t possibly have?”

Draco felt his hands begin to shake, “I don’t think that it’s impossible.” He managed in a small voice.

Lucius’s face reflected shock- but not the sort of shock Draco was expecting. “Don’t you?” He said after a pause, “Do you really believe that there is even one iota of hope that she might win that silly little crown?”

“Oh.” Draco exhaled loudly, “You meant the Debutante Ball.”

“Of course I meant the debutante ball!” Lucius snarled, “-whatever else could I have meant?”

Draco thought it best not to answer, a decision that proved wise as his father, either failing to notice or choosing to ignore the omission, continued. “I couldn’t care less about this silly little contest. If Miss Weasley wins. Fine. If Miss Fougere wins, so much the better. I do, however, care about your future and my money- both of which are rather caught up at the moment in keeping the Fougere’s happy and making sure that the merger goes through. I….Draco, are you listening?” Lucius Malfoy frowned and narrowed his eyes at the strange pallor in his son’s cheeks.

“ I’m listening, father.”

“Good. After speaking with Monsieur Fougere I’ve decided that- ah, Narcissa." Lucius stopped speaking as his wife entered the room. She gave her son a questioning look, and then drifted to where her husband was standing, accepting a quick kiss before she spoke.

“I’ve just back from St. Mungo’s, Lucius. They were able to reverse the spell.”

Lucius dipped his head in acknowledgment, “Well, that’s a relief, at least.” He offered Narcissa his chair, which she declined to take, “I was just telling your son that our plans for France have changed.”

“Oh?” Narcissa’s voice was even, but she shared an alarmed glance with Draco.

“Yes. Monsieur Fougere would like to move forward with the merger as soon as possible. We won’t be able to really start business until fourth quarter, but he wants Draco as soon as possible.”

“But Lucius!” Narcissa protested faintly, “He’s got the ball…and the party.”

“You can manage without him.”

“I can manage, but I don’t want to.” Narcissa retorted hotly, showing a bit more teeth than she usually put on display, “I’ve planned this entire event around Draco’s birthday, and I’m not going to have it ruined because Henri Fougere’s daughter decided to make herself into a pig.”

“Narcissa, don’t start.” Lucius warned, but Draco was reminded of exactly how it was that he had ended up at Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang, and had been named Draco instead of Titus, and a hundred other small matters that his mother has choosen to insist upon throughout his life.

“No, don’t you start, Lucius Malfoy!” Narcissa thundered, completely uncowed by his warning. “Draco has until his birthday to make up his mind and his birthday is not for another two weeks. He isn’t going to Apparate so much as a toe into France until the clock strikes twelve if I’ve got anything to say about it, and unless you’ve forgotten Lucius Malfoy- I do.”

Lucius’s eyes narrowed to slits. “We’ve both discussed how Draco needs some direction. Since he seems disinclined to pick one for himself…”

“Disinclined so far.” Narcissa corrected, “He still has time.”

“Time that he’s wasting!” Lucius hissed, “He doesn’t have anything to tie him here- or anyone. He’d be better off in France sooner rather than later.”

Draco had been nearly convinced that both of his parents had forgotten his presence entirely, but now they whirled around in tandem to face him.

“Well?” Narcissa prodded.

“Well, what?” Draco mumbled uncomfortably.

“Don’t you have something that you want to tell your father?”

Draco swallowed.

“I’m in love with Ginny Weasley.”

Chapter 17
Possessions

Draco hoped he hadn’t said those words out loud, but it quickly became all-too-obvious that he had. Lucius Malfoy’s face reminded Draco of a traffic light switching rapidly, first to green, then yellow, then red as he slammed his glass of bourbon hard against the desk.

Narcissa’s eyes flashed in panic, but like an animal trapped in lights, she seemed frozen in place.

Draco’s salvation came from an unlikely source: the high, forced laughter of Genevieve Fougere.

“Oh Draco, darling you’re so droll!” She said as she strolled into the study. Genevieve was flanked by her mother and a man he didn’t recognize, and followed by an extremely apologetic looking elf.

“Henri.” Lucius said, dipping his chin, his jaw twitching with the effort it took to regain his composure enough to respond.

“Isn’t Draco funny, papa?” Genevieve asked her father with a simpering smile. Her eyes were gleaming with manic energy. “He likes to tease about the littlest Weasley.”

“Yes, he likes to…joke.” Lucius repeated in an awkward tone- as if he was trying to comfort himself with the words.

“Well, how are you feeling Miss Fougere?” Narcissa stepped between her family and her guests, assuming control of the situation, “I hope you’re not hurt? We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Papa has some business with Lucius.”

Narcissa scowled at the casual use of her husband’s first name. “I wasn’t aware that Mister Fougere had an appointment with Mister Malfoy until the morning either.”

“Cissa…” Lucius interrupted, “It’s fine. He’s not interrupting.”

“You were speaking with Draco.”

“I don’t think that we have anything left to say.”

Narcissa watched with disapproval the look that passed between her husband and her son, both recognizing the double meaning of the words.

“Cissa, dearest, could you ring for some tea?”

“Yes, of course.” She tore her eyes away, focusing her attention on the female visitors. “If the gentlemen are discussing business, perhaps we’d be more comfortable in the parlor?”

“I wanted to see your dressing room.”

“My…my what?” Narcissa’s mouth gaped. For the second time in the brief moments since Genevieve’s arrival she was struck by the girl’s shocking lack of manners.

“Your jewelry,” Odile explained, petting her daughter’s hair as if she were a favorite cat, “Ginny Weasley was talking to her about your tiara…and your necklaces. She wants to see theem.”

“And the gown.” Genevieve gave Narcissa a pointed smile, and then said, while looking at Lucius, “Ginny Weasley was talking about it at our meeting- that you let her try it on, I’m mad to see it.”

Mrs. Malfoy found herself gritting her teeth behind her megawatt smile. The fact that Genevieve would dare to make such a personal and forward request demonstrated an appalling lack of breeding.
Unfortunately, refusing it would be even worse. “Very well.” She said tightly, then turned to give Draco and Lucius a quick nod, “Draco…darling, I’ll have Lolly send tea.”

Narcissa led Mrs. and Miss Fougere out of the study, toward the spiral staircase in the hall. The Frenchwoman moved very slowly as they entered the private areas of the house and, ‘friends of the family’ or not, Narcissa couldn’t shake the feeling that the women were appraising what they saw as they went.

“Here we are.” Narcissa said at last, reluctantly opening the door. It led to a sitting room. Double-doors on the left wall went to a bedchamber. A smaller door, on the right, was also open. “The dressing room is over there.” Narcissa said, “I’ll have the elves bring down the gown. She frowned to notice that the Fougere’s weren’t listening. They were both peering into the other room with interest, “A shared bedroom, Narcissa?” Odile said in an oily voice, “How continental!”

This time Narcissa simply ignored them. “In here.” She said curtly, leading them into the pink-papered room. It was lined, with shelves and racks of garments, skirted by neat lines of tiny shoes. A shelf overhead held hats and handbags. Finally, along the inside wall of the house was a case filled with glittering gems.

Genevieve gasped.

“Mon Dieu!” Odile exclaimed softly, fingers curling reflexively toward the glass.

Genevieve was not so subtle. She pressed her nose against the glass doors of the display, leaving a breathy print. “They’re worth a fortune.”

Narcissa wrinkled her nose at yet another display of poor taste- why hadn’t she noticed Genevieve’s manners before? Outside of the debutante functions, she seemed barely capable of conducting herself in polite society. Nevertheless, Narcissa let her guests look around. She imagined this was how farmer’s felt, leading wolves on henhouse tour.

“There eet ees! Zee tiara!” Odile gushed, directing Genevieve’s attention to the center of the case. “And zee Necklace…” She breathed rapturously, “But perhaps…? No- you wouldn’t let my Genevieve borrow one for zee ball.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Narcissa snapped, then felt guilty. “I’m saving them for my own daughters.”

“But you don’t have any daughters!” Genevieve protested.

“Well we’re very continental,” Narcissa retorted, “I haven’t abandoned hope.”

“But surely, surely you would loan them to a daughter-een-law?” Odile simpered.

Narcissa softened, remembering her manners, “Of course…but I don’t have one of those either.” She flicked her wand and the inside of the cabinet went dim.

“Don’t forget to put the wards back up.” Genevieve reminded, still staring through the darkened case.

“There aren’t any wards.” Narcissa said impatiently, “If an intruder in this house got as far as my bedroom closet I hardly think I’d be worried about my jewels.” She said crossly, marching them back out of the dressing room without the promised glimpse of her dress.

The Fougeres lingered behind her. For the second time that evening Narcissa noted that they both looked…odd.

~*~

“Ginny dear, there you are!”

Ginny flinched as she heard her mother’s voice. She had been hoping to return from the Manor unnoticed. However, long years of experience had taught her that pulling one over on Molly Weasley was difficult, if not damned near impossible. “I flooed your brothers. They’ve gone back to London. You ought to have been home an hour ago.”

“I…got hung up at the Malfoy’s.” Ginny said, sheepishly raking her fingers through her rain-soaked hair.

“Nothing the matter, I hope?” Molly said in a terse tone. Ginny felt a little pang at her mother’s tone. It was unspoken, but implied, that she was hurt by her daughter’s seeming preference to while away her afternoons in the presence of Narcissa Malfoy rather than at home with her mum.

“Everything’s fine.” Ginny said, quietly resolving to take her mother out to tea as soon as she got a chance. “We just took the long way home.”

“I can see that.” Molly chided. She flicked her wand at a mop and set it to wiping up the muddy footprints that her daughter had tracked into the house. “I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon…It’s finally finished!”

“It?” Ginny frowned, unsure what her mother was referring to.

“Your gown!” Molly said excitedly. “I finished it this evening.”

Ginny felt her stomach drop. She had been reluctant to broach the issue of a gown with her mother. She had planned initially to simply transfigure something she already had, but the horror stories she had overheard at the luncheons- of girls with similar ideas being humiliated by a spiteful finite incantateum- had convinced her not to try. Genevieve would like nothing more than another chance to humiliate her in public.

As soon as it became clear that Draco’s statement about Ginny already having a dress was untrue, Narcissa had been making inquiries among her own designers about pulling something together at the last minute- nothing so elaborate as the other girls, but elegant and lovely all the same. Abryenne had brought over a pale ivory confection two days earlier that would make due.

“Er…mum, you shouldn’t have.” She said in a wavering voice, all too aware that Molly Weasley was a devotee of the “lumpy sweater” school of fashion. “I’ve…I’ve already got a dress.”

Ginny’s stomach dropped in perfect tandem with her mothers face. She was ashamed of the hurt she saw there. Of course she’d wear the dress. Even it if was knitted white wool, perhaps embellished with a off-center “D” for debutante, she knew that she would wear it all the same. “Where is it mum?” she asked, trying to project enthusiasm into her voice. “I can’t wait to see.”


Molly looked a bit uncertain, and then took her daughter’s hand. They climbed to the attic, where the ghoul was doing ironing. Mrs. Weasley nodded to it, and it drifted behind a screen, returning with a muslin-wrapped bundle.

“If you really don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it. It won’t hurt my feelings.” Molly lied, eyes flicking nervously over her daughters face as she waited for Ginny to peel the cloth away. “Well, open it…” she nudged.

Ginny pulled up the cloth, and then she gasped, feeling the dampness of tears on her cheeks. “Oh, mum!” She breathed softly, reaching into the folds to withdraw the gown.

It was exquisite- and Ginny knew, although she would love it no matter what- that an unbiased opinion would conclude the same. It was a rival even for Narcissa’s dress. The full skirt was watered silk and then bottom- a full five inches from the hem- had been painstakingly hand-embroidered with tiny beads and crystals. “Oh, mum,” She said again, her voice, “How did you ever?”

“It’s just my old gown made over.” Molly said with a self-depreciating shrug, but her eyes were shining. “I had nearly forgotten that it was up here. I thought I might add a bit- just to freshen it up…and I’ve had plenty of time on my own.”

“I love it!” Ginny threw her arms around Molly’s neck. “I’ll be the luckiest girl at the ball!”

It was true. There were some things that money couldn’t buy, and Ginny had those in spades.

Chapter 18
Choices

Narcissa Malfoy awoke with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed, and gasped loud enough to wake up her husband beside her.

“Narcissa?” Lucius murmured sleepily, “What is it?”

“Brown eyes.”

“Hmmmmm?”

“Brown eyes…Genevieve Fougere’s eyes are blue- and tonight they were brown, I’m sure of it.”

Lucius sighed heavily, and turned on his side to face her, “What are you implying, Narcissa?”

“I don’t know, exactly.” She frowned, her heart still racing from the sudden realization. “It just…well…I hadn’t seen the girl in years. She wasn’t quite what I expected. Pretty enough, but when all of this was arranged- back when she was a girl, she was sweet, and now…”

“You worry too much.” Lucius attempted to placate her. He tugged her gently back toward the pillows. “I’m sure that once she’s a little more secure-”

“You aren’t honestly thinking of making Draco marry her!”

Lucius sighed again, and this time he sat up, aware that he wasn’t getting back to sleep until the matter was resolved, “What choice do I have, Narcissa? It’s a magically binding contract. Merlin only knows what sort of hexes Henri and his barristers have cast on it if we breach- I know what I did, and that’s scary enough.

“And if Draco has chosen someone else?” Narcissa pressed.

“Then the deal is off.” Lucius said, tersely. “And Malfoy Industries will be effectively out of the cauldron business on the continent…but I don’t know why we’re having this conversation, because he hasn’t, and it looks as though he won’t.”

“Lucius,” Narcissa hesitated, wondering if she really wanted to stir the hornet’s nest. She couldn’t hold her tongue. “You heard him tonight.” She said at last, carefully watching his eyes.

Lucius flinched. “I heard him.”

“And you don’t believe him?” Narcissa was puzzled, “Draco knows how you feel about the Weasley’s darling. It took a lot of courage to-”

“Courage I’ll grant him-but love?” Lucius looked at his wife carefully. “It’s one thing to blurt something out when you are having an argument with your father, and quite another to actually live out what you say. If he fancies himself in love with that girl, why doesn’t he do something about it? Why doesn’t he make a choice?”

“If Ginny was his choice you wouldn’t object?” Narcissa said in an astonished voice. Truly, after more than twenty years of marriage, Lucius never ceased to amaze her.

“How could I?” He replied. He chuckled faintly at the shock on her face, and traced a finger tenderly across her cheek. “I’d have to admire a man who’d face down family objections to be with the woman he loved…he’d remind me too much of me.”

~*~

Lucius was in an excessively cheerful mood the next morning. Narcissa had seen that his open-mindedness was well-rewarded and while he had gotten far less sleep than he ordinarily required, it was easy enough for the chairman of the board to cancel a morning meeting. So it was that he was still sitting at the breakfast table, pouring over the morning edition of the Daily Prophet when his son entered the room.

“Good morning, father.” Draco said quietly. The pitch and inflection of his voice was so odd that it coaxed Lucius’s gaze from the paper to stare at his son.

While Lucius Malfoy’s nocturnal activities had left him invigorated and refreshed, the night hours had worked precisely opposite effect on his son. There were bags under the boy’s eyes, and his usually shining hair was grey and limp. “Are you feeling well, Draco?” Lucius asked, frowning. “I could send the elves for a pepper-up potion.”

“I’m fine, father.” Draco replied wearily, then admitted, “I didn’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?” Lucius shifted uncomfortably. For all the well-earned pride that he took in his progeny, he was unaccustomed to holding tete-a-tete’s. “Er…girl problems?” He ventured a guess. Narcissa was right: he wasn’t fond of the idea of Ginny Weasley for a daughter-in-law (apart from the consoling detail that it would, undoubtably, crush Arthur Weasley’s soul), but his declaration of support had been genuine. The girl was a pureblood. Unlike some of the other prospects of the year she promised to have something of a brain and, at least according to Narcissa, her showing at debutante functions had demonstrated a passable degree of taste. He was certain that things could be worse.

“Yes.” Draco blurted. Then, his face going white, “I mean no…I mean…I-I’ve decided…I’m going to France.”

The shock on Lucius Malfoy’s face must have been palpable, because Draco flinched, averting his gaze to the floor. It took the elder Malfoy several moments before he recovered his capacity for speech. Although this was technically what he wanted, it was the last thing he had expected his son to say, and he was unprepared with a response. “Oh?” he finally managed, ruffling the paper as an excuse for something to do with his hands.

“Yes.” Draco said, a little more firmly. “I’ve been thinking about what you said…about my needing to take direction in my life and…well, like you said- it’s a great opportunity, father. There’s a big future in cauldrons, and I’d like to be a part of it.”

It was all that Lucius could do to keep from scowling. Was this the son that he had raised? Parroting back precisely what he thought that he wanted his father to hear, rather than finding the guts to say what he really felt? “So you’re going to marry Miss Fougere then?” He drawled cruelly, enjoying the jolt of panic that marred Draco’s face.

The boy was still for a moment as he mastered himself, then replied. “No…er…I mean, I rather not, sir.” He said quickly, “That is…don’t I still have time to make up my mind?”

“Until your birthday.” Lucius answered dryly, “Though, if you’ve found a girl, it would be better to get things settled- cleaner to tie up loose ends now than waiting.” He stared at his son, awaiting a response. When none was forthcoming, he frowned. Merlin! How much easier did it have to be?

Draco stared at Lucius, eyes wide, looking like a mouse waiting for a trap to snap shut. “No, father.” He said quickly.

Lucius rattled the paper, “Very well. I’ll speak with Henri this afternoon. I’m sure that he’ll be ready for you to start as soon as you can.”

Lucius didn’t linger over his tea. As soon as his son sat down, he stood up, excusing himself with a murmur of business in town. Draco watched his father go, and then reached for a piece of toast. He took a bite, but couldn’t swallow. His mouth was dry, and he felt like he might be sick.

What was he thinking?

I’m making a decision, for once. Draco insisted to himself. Going to France didn’t mean that he couldn’t have Ginny…but it would tell him where he stood if she decided that she wanted to come. He closed his eyes as he, once again, worked through the confusing memories of the night before. It had been perfect- a run in the rain, a kiss…but then, just when his father arrived, Ginny had run away.

He didn’t understand. She had denied their relationship when her brothers were around too. It was as if she didn’t want anyone to know. And if no one ever knew…what kind of future did that fortell?

He wanted Ginny Weasley, but did she want him back?

His father was right. He needed to make a choice- but he wasn’t going to make it alone.

Chapter 19
The Storm

~*~

The rainstorm blew itself out during the night. By the time Ginny Weasley Apparated to Wiltshire for tea, the sky was blue and the sun was bright- a perfect reflection of her mood. She had never been looking forward to the visit more. The nerves which had plagued her at the beginning of the summer were gone, and even the prospect of passing an afternoon with Genevieve Fougere was not enough to dampen her excitement at the prospect of showing Narcissa her dress.

Ginny was shown into the Parlor as soon as she arrived. Draco was there. Remembering the night before, she shot him a dazzling smile. The look faltered on her face, however as she noted the hollow darkness in his face. Confused, Ginny turned toward Narcissa, surprised by the odd tension in Mrs. Malfoy’s own features. The only person in the drawing room who didn’t appear out of sorts was Genevieve, nibbling a crumpet, looking positively smug.

Narcissa’s usual ebullient greeting was muted, “Ginevra, dear.” She said simply, half-rising and gesturing toward a chair. “We started without you.”

“I apologize for being late.” In spite of the unusual reception, Ginny’s spirits were undimmed. “I wanted to finish pressing my dress.”

“Your dress?” For once, Genevieve looked genuinely interested in one of Ginny’s remarks- no doubt anticipating the pleasure she would have poking fun at it, Ginny thought, gleeful at the notion of robbing that pleasure. “I didn’t know you had a dress.’

“Of course I have a dress.” Ginny said smoothly, taking the parcel out of her pocket and deminiaturizing it with her wand. It was still wrapped in muslin, and so she positioned it to full effect before she drew the cloth away.

Narcissa gasped in pleasure, and even Genevieve couldn’t hide a look of amazement, though she took care to twist it into a scornful frown as soon as she became aware that Ginny was looking.

“Why it’s lovely dear, don’t you think so, Draco?” She asked, shooting her son a significant look.

“Of course, mother.” He replied blandly.

“Wherever did you find that thing?”

Ginny ignored Genevieve’s tone, happily recalling the jealousy that had tainted the French girl’s features only a few minutes before

“It was custom made.” She replied loftily. It was the truth, and her rival was free to reach any sort of conclusion from that statement that she wanted. “I haven’t had the fittings yet, but it’s really even better on.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that.” Narcissa remarked, “Draco, be a dear and take Ginny upstairs so that she can change.”

“She already knows where the rooms are.” The vehemence in Genevieve’s voice was pronounced, but Narcissa ignored her.

“Draco.”

“Yes, mum.” Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and started up the hall, Ginny Weasley following in his wake.

“What’s the matter with all of you?” She snapped as soon as they were out of sight. “What’s happened? Last night-“

“-was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Ginny felt her blood run cold, and she stopped in the middle of the hall, her happiness about the dress forgotten.

“Not a mistake.” Draco recanted quickly, “Just…ill-advised.”

Ginny began to breathe again as understanding sat in, bringing with it a hot anger that rewarmed her limbs. “I see that you’ve spoken with your father.”

“No!” Draco protested, “I mean- yes, only not how you mean…Gin! Its…it’s…complicated.”

“Complicated?” Ginny’s ponytail swished angrily as she rounded a corner, “The only complications between us are ones created by you Draco Malfoy.” She said, perhaps unfairly.

“Gin…” He sighed, running a hand through his white-blonde hair. Taking a deep breath, he finally confessed, “I’m going to France.”

At last, Ginny stopped walking. “France? What? When? Why?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Draco answered, “Dad needs me to run the new company and…”

“To marry you off to Genevieve to seal the deal.”

“I’m did not agree to marry Genevieve!” He protested, hotly.

“Yet.” She sniffed, but then her attention caught on something else. “You agreed?”

“Yes.” Draco sighed, “It was my idea, actually.” He lifted a hand to request silence. “Mum and Dad have always said that I lack direction and…well, they’re right. I’m lucky to have so many opportunities thrust into my lap. Sitting around and not doing anything with my life is lazy and ungrateful.”

“And what you want is a career in Cauldrons???”

“It’s a place to start!” Draco defended himself. “Malfoy Industries has never expanded much onto the continent. We have a few of the old Black holdings in France, but with the new Muggle Union trade restrictions we could really-”

“Stop it!”

“Stop what.”

“Pretending to care.”

Draco’s cheeks flushed, “Maybe I’m not pretending.”

“Oh, please Draco.” She couldn’t stop herself, “Seventh year, all you wanted was to play Quidditch. The year before that it was a career in potions- you were going to invent the cure for the Sleeping Curse. Cauldrons aren’t anything that interests you, they’re just the path of least resistance- for now.”

“Why don’t you quit talking about things you know nothing about!”

“Why don’t you just decide what you want!”

Draco stopped, his face contorted into an angry scowl. He stopped in front of a mahogany door and wrenched it open with his hand. “You’re one to talk, Ginny Weasley.” He said coldly, glowering at her for a minute, then he turned, “You can change in there, he snapped, and then he walked away.

Ginny watched him go, mouth agape, wondering what had just gone wrong. Was Draco really going away? Going away and leaving things like this? She had to force her feet to carry her body to the center of the room, to undo the fastenings of her robes. She stood in front of the mirror in knickers and her bra, staring at her tear-stained face. Her eyes caught on a glint of metal and, instinctively, her hands moved to the chain around her neck. She traced it with her index finger, finally hooking it through the smooth circle of Draco’s ring.

“Oh, Draco.” She whispered quietly, “I don’t know what you want…I don’t know what I want either, but I know this isn’t it.”

Silent tears slid down her cheeks.

Distracted, she didn’t notice the approach of footsteps in the hall. She didn’t see Genevieve Fougere’s face peek inside the door, blue eyes widening at the sight of Draco’s ring. She didn’t hear the door click closed again.

Chapter 20
A Letter

“And in second place, with four hundred and sixteen points, Miss Ginevra Weasley….”

Ginny barely heard the polite applause that crackled around her, and didn’t flinch when Genevieve’s name was called a moment later, in first place, only two points ahead.

She was numb.

Draco had actually gone to France. Actually, she ought to be getting used to the idea by now- it had been nearly a month. Still, she was unable to think of anything else.

There had been no word at all from Draco for a full week, even though he promised to write. Then, owls began to arrive daily. Always, they were detailed and tender and attentive. Sometimes, they veered toward “sweet” and even “romantic”, but there was still a sense of unrelenting control to the words- a sense of repressed emotion and unspoken words that had fostered the sense that Ginny’s “relationship” with Draco- or whatever other term best described the reason for the letters- was an illusion that she couldn’t trust. He never spoke of the past, or the future. He simply sent her standard love letters that might do just as easily for any other girl he had known. There was something odd about them that she couldn’t quite place.

He had sent her one such owl that very morning. “Ginny,” it began in a conversational tone, “I hope things are still going well. I know that things are winding to a close, and how important this is to you…”

Three days ago, she had found out why he seemed so distant.

“Narcissa, ma chere, you are come-eeng to France after zee ball, no? You must help us peek out Genevieve’s trousseau…”
Odile had not lodged many appearances at the Manor since the Fred and George Weasley’s chocolate prank, but they were graced with her presence that rainy afternoon. The statement had struck Ginny immediately as odd.

“Genevieve’s getting married?” She said, skeptically. With Draco beyond her clutches (the one pleasant side-effect of his exile to France) Ginny hadn’t noticed much forward progress on the French girl’s marriage front. The Slytherin boys who populated the Deb pall pre-parties were, apparently, smarter and more discriminating that the littlest Weasley had given them credit for. Still, Ginny was unnerved by the nervous wavering of Narcissa Malfoy’s expression.

“Possibly,” She responded tightly, shooting her foreign guests a quelling glance that was wholly ignored.

“Surely you see zat eet ees nearly certain?” Odile said, puffing out her chest like a robin. “Eef he has not taken a wife by zee night of hees birthday zeen he must marry Genevieve or break zee contract….and I do not theenk zat Monsieur Malfoy weel take zees risk.” Her eyes glittered darkly. “My husband ees very skeeled at curses- as I am sure zat you can guess.”

Ginny felt as if she had taken a bludger to the gut. She knew that the Malfoys and the Fougeres were trying to throw their children together. She knew that the birthday party had been a deadline of sorts- but she had taken heart from Narcissa’s apparent cooling toward the French women. She had never guessed that there were magical inducements which might bind him to make a choice.

Feeling dangerously unsteady, Ginny had claimed business at the Burrow and hurried home. Safely within her room, she had let her tears break free. It wasn’t fair! She had heard that some of the more prominent and pureblooded families still used curses and pacts to bind their business arrangements, but it seemed impossibly cruel that a simple bargain over cauldron factories could wind up dashing all her dreams. She had cried herself to sleep, wondering what she could do- go to France after him? Was that what Draco wanted? After all, he was the one who had decided to go away.

Four days later, sitting through her final pre-ball luncheon, Ginny’s feelings were still unresolved. The excitement about her debut- a tingling anticipation that had been building all summer- suddenly felt hollow and worthless. Since his departure, the war between Ginny and Genevieve had somewhat cooled. They were still rivals, but had concentrated their efforts internally, rather than on undermining each other. Both of them had enjoyed success. With the competition winding down, and the Wizarding Social Season ready to start- with the Debutante Ball to mark its beginning- they were neck and neck in the race for the crown- their closest rival a distant third.

Ginny felt that she ought to be pleased. She had told Draco that she wanted the Debutante ball- and the crown- for herself…but was that really true? Did it matter if she succeeded, if she didn’t have Draco to bask in the glow of her triumph?

“Winning Debutante of the Year is something of a tradition among Malfoy brides…” The words, spoken weeks earlier, rang in Ginny’s ears. Now that it had come to it, now that the final stroke was at hand, she felt utterly destined to fail.

Perhaps she wouldn’t even go to the ball. Ginny had entertained this thought several times over the weekend, but was unable to reach a decision. She didn’t want to be humiliated. She didn’t think that she could bear to be present when Draco and Genevieve’s engagement was announced (and she had no doubt that the Fougeres, regardless of the Malfoy’s preference, would be making an announcement the second the clock struck twelve), but so many people had invested so much effort in bringing her to this night: Her father in surrendering his pride, Narcissa in lending her aide, Fred and George in defending her honor, the love her mother had demonstrated by sewing her dress. Even Oliver Wood, an old friend of her brothers from school, had given up a night of practice for the Quidditch Pre-Season All-Stars game to be her escort for the night. She loved Draco, but she loved them all too- and they would be what she had left when this dream was finally dashed.

Something about his letters- something about Draco’s persistent refusal to surrender their connection entirely, even in the face of so much doubt, gave her the final thread of hope that she needed to hang on and so she remained in doubt.

“You’re looking glum today!” Fred and George were standing in the Weasley kitchen when Ginny returned home, standing around a bubbling pot which looked as if it did NOT contain lunch. The man who had spoken, George, tousled his sister’s hair, “Are you getting worked up for your big day.”

“I’m not sure if I’m going.” Ginny admitted aloud for the first time.

“Not sure if you’re going?” Fred gasped, “What, and miss all the fun?”

Fred and George’s experience at the Debutante Luncheon had gained them notoriety among the Deb Ball set. Their sister was bemused at how far being infamous went in gaining rich and influential friends- they had been invited to almost every function since, and had secured a pair of willowy blondes to escort for the night.

“I hope you aren’t speaking of fun you’re intending to create.” Ginny scolded, not really caring one way or the other, but feeling obligated to complain. Actually, it might be worth going after all if, flush with triumph, Genevieve was at least transformed into a squawking canary, or covered with unseemly spots.

Fred and George didn’t answer, but merely grinned- heightening their sister’s expectations. Deciding not to make herself an accessory to crime, she left the kitchen, but was stopped when a voice called out, “Oh, there’s an owl that came for you too.”

“Yeah.” Fred stepped forward, holding out a parcel. “The owl that brought it was one of those fancy birds from France.”

Ginny’s first inclination was to merely shrug. However, when she saw what they were holding, she felt a thrill run along her spine. The envelope that her brother was holding out was much thicker than those that Draco usually sent. His name was not on the outside of the envelope- it never was- but that didn’t dim her enthusiasm as she rushed to her room and began ripping the paper away.

Inside there was a flat velvet box and a small parchment scroll. She opened the paper first:

Ginny, I wanted you to have this for your big night. I thought it was time that I gave you something better for your neck. I can’t wait to see it on you.

She ran her fingers over the dried ink, her heart hammering in her chest.

The necklace sitting inside was the most exquisite thing she had ever seen. Obviously antique, it was a glittering collar of diamonds, woven in an almost floral pattern. It was a given that the stones were real. Heavy and brilliant, she was achingly conscious that the trinket in her hands was easily worth twice what she could get for their entire Weasley house. What did Draco mean by sending such a gift.

I can’t wait to see it on you …

She thrilled as she read the words again. Was it possible? Was Draco coming home? Maybe hope wasn’t dead after all!

Chapter 21
The Ball

It was finally the morning of the ball.

“Ginny, dear! I’ve made breakfast.” Molly Weasley said, and poked her head into her only daughter’s room. She smiled to see that Ginny was still asleep. As soon as the girl woke up, Mrs. Weasley swept inside, laying the parcel that she was carrying across the foot of her bed. It was Ginny’s gown. “I went ahead and pressed it, dear.” Molly said, “I didn’t want the ghoul to get it- you know how careless it can be sometimes.”

Ginny smiled. The anti-wrinkling charms that Molly had applied while adjusting the dress assured that there wouldn’t be any creases regardless of what the ghoul did, or how carelessly Ginny sat, but she merely smiled and bobbed her head.

“There’s toast and tea on the table.” Molly said, fussing with the folds of the dress.

“I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble, mum. I’m sure that Narcissa expected me to eat at the Manor, I-”

“Oh! That reminds me!” Molly stood and faced her daughter, “You had a call.”

“A call?” Ginny felt the back of her neck prickle with excitement- had it been Draco?

“Narcissa Malfoy flooed this morning. She’s terribly upset, poor dear.”

Ginny couldn’t help but smile at the way Molly’s feelings regarding Mrs. Malfoy had softened over the course of the summer. She had begun the season known as “that woman” but had now been elevated to the lofty height of “dear”.

“There’s been some sort of terrible to-doing at the Manor, couldn’t get it all out of her, poor dear- horrible thing to happen on the day of the ball.”

Ginny’s eyes flashed with worry, “Oh, everyone’s okay.” Molly assured her, “As near as I can tell there was a problem with one of the hired workers that they brought in- somebody skulking around. In any event, they’ve got Aurors over from the Ministry and- well, you can guess that’s an uncomfortable visit for a Malfoy. She asked that you just not come over until the ball tonight.”

“Oh.” Ginny replied, not really excited by the prospect of an entire day to squander on her own.

It turned out that she ought not to have worried. Molly’s own planning sprang into the gap. Ginny had barely put down her fork from breakfast before she was caught up in the whirlwind of the day. It seemed that Mrs. Weasley had been hoping for such an opportunity. Molly had been to the library in London and checked out every book on beauty potions available. Ginny hoped that Fred and George’s experiment from the night before had been thoroughly scourgified from the pots before they began.

As the day wore on, Ginny was forced to admit that she was having fun. She and her mother had never really had a chance to sit around and giggle like girls before. Truthfully, Ginny had never really considered her mother very much simply as a person- as Molly Weasley- rather than her mum. She was touched by the effort that her mother had thrown into making the day special, and fascinated by new insights into her mother’s life.

“The night before my ball, I went into Diagon Alley with the other Rookwood girls.” She said, taking a sip of lemonade as she and Ginny cooled their heels in a bath of foot salts. “My cousin Orangiana bought an engorgement charm in Knockturn Alley to help her fill out her dress.” She grinned at the memory, looking uncannily like her mischievous sons, “Her mum had to pry her into it with a shoehorn the next day! Then, when she was dancing, she lost her balance and pitched over headfirst into the punch.” Her faded eyes crinkled into mirth.

“She didn’t!” Ginny laughed, privately thinking that this was just the sort of thing that Genevieve might do.

“She did!” Molly allowed herself another chuckle, but she gasped as she looked at the clock. “Goodness! We’ve got to get you dressed!” Flicking her wand at the pots and potions lying around, she set them to cleaning themselves and herded her daughter upstairs. Carefully following the instructions in the latest Witch Weekly, she bound up Ginny’s hair in a styling charm, securing it with a sprig of orange blossoms that Pigwidgen had carried in special that morning from Spain.

The only thing left was the dress. Ginny turned toward her mother, extending her arms as the older woman carefully eased the garment over her head, then turned her toward the her reflection.

“Exquisite, dear!” The kindly old looking glass sighed.

Molly’s eyes were bright with tears. “Oh, Ginny!” She said in a wavering tone, but was unable to control her emotions enough to say more. She called Arthur to bring the camera, and they took pictures of Ginny in the dress: Standing in front of the mirror, waving from the parlor, standing under the trees on the lawn.

Finally, Ginny was permitted a moment alone. She went back to her room and double-checked the charm on her hair, and the glamours of colour on her lips and cheeks and eyes.

“Ginevra!” All too soon, Molly was calling for her again, “Oliver’s here.”

Taking a breath, Ginny started toward the door.

Oliver Wood, Keeper for Puddlemere United, was waiting in the hall. He had agreed to be Ginny’s escort as a favor to the twins. Ginny couldn't help but admire the way that the formal robes hugged his trim, fit figure. He really was exceedingly good looking, and the warm smile that he gave her would have been enough to melt any other girl's knees.

She sighed, another time, another place, another life, it might have been different... Oliver was very handsome, but she couldn’t deny that her heart wanted it to be Draco standing at the foot of the stairs.

“You look smashing, Gin.” Oliver said, giving her the sort of smile he usually reserved for new brooms. In spite of the nervous tension twisting in her stomach, she couldn’t help but reciprocate the gesture.

“So do you.” She answered, sliding her arm in his. “Shall we go?”

“We shall.”

Ginny’s white dress, combined with the practical consideration of the sheer number of arrivals expected at Malfoy Manor that night, dictated that the couple could not arrive by floo. The invitation had been made into a Portkey set to activate at a particular time. Sliding her hand into Oliver’s, Ginny waited for it to work.

It wasn’t long before the familiar tugging just below her navel took hold. When Ginny opened her eyes again she was standing in the Malfoy Gazebo (the floor of which had been thoughtfully covered with a Persian rug to cushion the falls of white-dress-wearers who couldn’t keep their feet).

Even in the arrivals area, Narcissa had outdone herself. All around, the air was filled with light. What looked like thousands of tiny snowflake fairies had been released, and were hovering around the grounds, twinkling with magical light.

The façade of the Manor was, likewise, illuminated. Bathed in spotlights, it looked more impressive than ever. Perhaps illogically, Ginny felt her chest swell with pride as she was escorted across the marble threshold.

Apparently, Ginny had been given one of the later Portkeys, because the house was already filled with arrivals. Many of the guests were unfamiliar to her: members of “Old Guard” families taking their first look at the crop of debutantes. She couldn’t help but smile at the line of blue haired, thin-lipped old ladies that stood against the hall, frankly appraising the girls who stepped inside. She skimmed the crowd hopefully, but saw no sign of Draco at all.

Because of the staggered Portkeys, there was no receiving line or formal announcement of arrivals until the Debutantes were presented at the ball. Oliver and Ginny were led to their seats at a long table, to partake of a sumptuous meal.

Ginny knew that she was still being graded. The final winner of the competition- very likely Genevieve or herself- would be decided that night. Still, she was too preoccupied to expend much effort, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the dainty gestures and polite manners that she had practiced all summer came without thinking now.

Dinner ended with a speech from Madame Mynuet, and then the ball began. Ginny had been informed in advance that the non-debutante guests would be invited to mingle together for a while, and to take an opportunity to look over the girls (Though “On pain of death,” Madame Mynuet had warned with convincing emphasis, the debutantes were not to permit a dance until after their formal presentation that night). Ginny tried to look interested in what was going on, but couldn’t. She was too painfully aware of the advancing hours: Nine o’clock and no Draco. Ten o’clock. Eleven…

If he didn’t appear before midnight, there would be no way to avoid his engagement with Genevieve. Had she misunderstood the letter? Did he mean to stay in France?

“Will our debutantes please gather in the front hall?”

Mrs. Greengrass began circulating through the crowded ballroom, singling out the white-clad ladies and herding them out of the room, “Ladies, this way please…gentlemen, take a seat.”

Ginny was about to give Oliver her excuses when a slightly older girl came forward.

“Oliver Wood? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Ginny and her escort both turned toward a cheerful voice. Anne Greenbugg, a girl who had graduated with the twins, was walking across the hall. Ginny vaguely remembered that the Slytherin girl had been a particular fan of Quidditch during Wood’s final year as captain of the Gryffindor team. There had been rampant speculation that, if not for house politics, she would have been more likely clad in scarlet, than in green for the weekend matches. Wearing in a pale silk dress, Elaine looked radiant. Ginny grinned at the definite spark of interest in Oliver’s eyes. The girl murmured a polite greeting to Ginny, and then gave all of her attention to Mr. Wood.

“How have you been, Oliver?” She gushed, lightly touching his arm, “I saw the Paladin’s game last week. Those Bludgers were really flying! I thought Slater was going to get knocked off his broom!”

Succumbing to Quidditch’s siren call (Ginny had to give Miss Greenbugg a deal of credit for her choice of conversation), Oliver began to loosen his grip on Ginny’s arm. She let him go. “Why don’t you see if Miss Greenbugg knows where the escorts are meant to wait.” She told him, nudging him away, “I have to go get ready for the presentation.” And take one more look for Draco… She thought to herself.

With a grateful nod, Oliver agreed, bustling off with Elaine while Ginny continued her search. At least, she could no longer avoid Mrs. Greengrass, and obediently followed the other girls to be sorted into an alphabetically ordered receiving line. Madame Mynuet thumped her cane on the Marble floor commanding silence, and then the final inspection began.

Looking positively regal in ice-blue silk, Narcissa Malfoy, was walking with Madame Mynuet do a final appraisal of the girls. Sulky but handsome, Lucius followed in their wake, listening patiently to his wife’s introductions and welcoming each girl into his home.

Since Weasley began with “W”, Ginny was near the end of the line. She waited nervously for her turn, still praying with every breath that Draco would appear. She still wasn’t willing to think of the consequences if he did not.

A tall grandfather clock was next to her in the hall, and every heavy swing of the pendulum was like an ominous footstep, trudging closer to her doom.

At last, it was Ginny’s turn to be presented. Narcissa’s murmured a final compliment to Jerrica Wallis, the girl ahead of Ginny in the line, and then shifted her attention to Miss Weasley. Her lips curled automatically into a friendly smile. Then, her jaw fell open and she moved to cover a horrified gasp.

Ginny didn’t know what had changed. One moment Narcissa had been looking her over with approval, but suddenly her eyes reflected something much darker: Betrayal? Pain? It didn’t make sense!

She was staring at Ginny’s throat.

“W-where did you get that necklace?” Narcissa managed, still blinking and looking partly in shock.

“It was a gift.” Ginny said carefully, unsure if she ought to disclose Draco’s role.

“Liar!” Lucius’s voice rose above his wife’s. He stalked forward, looking furious. “She STOLE it!” he hissed, then wrenched the jewels from Ginny’s throat, “I ought to have known better than to let a Weasley into my house!”

“No!” Ginny too a step back, her hand going to her neck, instinctively shielding the necklace in dispute. “Why would I steal your necklace? It was a present…”

“A present?” Lucius sneered, “A jewel like that? Who could you possibly know with a house worth that much money?”

“Lucius!” Narcissa, still looking pale, laid her hand on the crook of his arm, gently restraining him, “We should listen to the girl. She’s right- it doesn’t make sense.” Blue eyes skimmed the room, restlessly “Who gave you the gift, Miss Weasley?” She asked softly.

“I-“ Ginny swallowed Draco’s name. She couldn’t betray him now. Even if she dared- she stole a glance at Mr. Malfoy, looking every bit the murderer that he was alleged to be- Lucius would rather she robbed him blind than publicly admit to a relationship with his son, debutante or not. “Someone had it delivered to the Burrow.” She managed at last.

“Someone had it delivered to the Burrow?” Lucius repeated in a mocking tone, “Thieves are using owl-order these days? Whatever will they think of next?”

“I didn’t take it!” Ginny protested again. “I swear it!”

“You can swear it under Veritaserum to the Aurors!” Mr. Malfoy growled, then turned, as if it was his full intention to floo the Department of Magical Law Enforcement straight away.

“Not now, Lucius!” Narcissa’s voice was firmer as she yanked on her husband’s sleeve, bringing him to a stop.

“Narcissa…” Lucius began impatiently, “We must…”

“We must do nothing.” Narcissa said tightly, “I will call the authorities concerning my necklace when and if I determine that there is a need to do so.”

“You aren’t just going to let her stay here?” Lucius looked incredulous. “You aren’t-“

Another voice broke over Mr. Malfoy’s- Genevieve’s voice:

“We can prove that she took it!”

Odile oozed out of the crowd, sliding up next to her daughter: “Eet ees not zee only zing zat she stole!”

Chapter 22
Midnight

The initial grip of icy fear that Ginny felt when she realized that the necklace had been stolen began to loosen in the face of Narcissa’s unexpectedly reasonable stance. It tightened anew at Genevieve and Odile Fougere’s additional charge. Ginny’s eyes sought her rival out, easily spotting the purple-clad matron and her vile yet lovely daughter almost immediately. Mrs. Fougere was prodding Genevieve with her fan. “Tell her, ma petite. Tell Narceesa what eet ees you saw!”

Ginny’s eyes met Genevieve’s, and then she abandoned hope.

She had been set up.

Ginny took a double punch: first at the realization that the Frenchwomen had played her like a fool- and then at the recollection that the necklace wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t really been sent from Draco.

The letters. Looking back, Ginny finally understood why the notes had seemed so stilted, so cool and so odd. She hadn’t even recognized the handwriting- and it hadn’t occurred to her to attempt to match it to the letter he had given her on the train, the letter that she had read a year too late. There was a good reason for the strangeness. Draco hadn’t written the letters at all. He didn’t intent to return.

He’d gone to France and forgotten.

Numbed this realization, Ginny barely heard what happened next.

“I ought to have told you sooner, Mrs. Malfoy.” Genevieve simpered, looking heartily pleased to discover that she held the attention of the entire room. “Only, I didn’t want to stir up trouble, and I really wasn’t sure…”

“Wasn’t sure of what?” Lucius snapped.

“About the ring.”

“Ring?” Mr. Malfoy’s brow furrowed. He looked at Narcissa. “You didn’t tell me you were missing a ring.”

Mrs. Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “I’m not.”

Clearly, it required all of Genevieve’s effort to swallow the smug grin that tried to erupt across her face. She had to bite her lower lip to hold it in, “I believe that the item in question actually belongs to your son.”

“My son?” Lucius was puzzled.

“Yes…er…Perhaps a family heirloom?” Genevieve had the audacity to pretend that it pained her to expose Ginny Weasley’s crime. She, along with the rest of the room, watched Lucius Malfoy’s face as realization finally dawned.

“She has my son's ring?” Lucius’s skin flushed with fury. Ginny barely had time to flinch as he lifted his wand and snapped, “Accio anulus Malfoy!”

Ginny felt a sting in the bodice of her gown. She had stashed the momento there out of sight while she wore the other necklace. Breaking free of its chain, the ring whizzed through the air to Mr. Malfoy’s outstretched hand. He caught it neatly, and then pinched it between his finger and thumb, nearly shaking with rage as he advanced on her once again.

“How dare you.” Lucius’s voice was like an ice-blue flame, burning with cold fury. “How dare you take this ring? It’s been worn by the Malfoy heir for thirteen generations!”

“I didn’t take it!” Ginny weakly repeated a protest she knew no one would heed. Tears were streaming down her face as she insisted. “I didn’t steal the ring!”

“If you didn’t steal it, where did you get it?” Lucius sneered, “Someone ‘gave’ it to you?” His face betrayed surprise when Ginny nodded her head.

Cold grey eyes narrowed, “Who?”

“I did.”

A gasp shivered through the crowd as all eyes turned to the entry hall.

Ginny turned, barely daring to believe what she had heard. “Draco.” She breathed underneath her breath.

“Draco?” Most of the redness drained from Lucius’s cheeks as understanding began to set in.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Henri Fougere, unnoticed until this moment, rushed forward, stepping in front of the younger Malfoy, “You’re supposed to be…”

“Working?” Draco hissed with a curious inflection. “I decided to skive off tonight. I hope you don’t mind. It was getting a little cramped at the office.”

Narcissa gasped, reading the implication in his tone, “What are you saying Draco?” She demanded. “Why didn’t you answer my owls?”

“I wasn’t allowed to write.” Draco gave Henri Fougere a look that could freeze lava, but then continued toward his parents. “I wasn’t allowed to receive letters either.”

“Surely you aren’t claiming that Henri’s held you as some sort of…prisoner…in France?” Lucius looked between his son and his wife, utterly perplexed. “Why in Merlin’s name would he do that?”

“To ensure that I wouldn’t be here tonight.” Draco glared at the Frenchman, even as he internally admitted that the tactic was a very Malfoy-like thing to do. It was no surprise why Lucius and Henri had concocted a merger. Mr. Fougere’s business methods were well-suited to his father’s own.

“But why would he want to do that? Why should he stop you from coming home?” Lucius continued.

“Because I still have time to change my mind.”

Ginny’s body began to shake as Draco hurried to her side. He took the ring from his astonished father’s fingers and pressed it back into Ginny’s hands. “I’m sorry, Ginny.” He said soulfully, “I couldn’t get here any sooner. It was a mistake to go to France. Almost as soon as I Apparated over, Henri and his minions locked me away. I swear I tried.” He returned his attention to his father. “Henri knew that I was planning to break the contract. He didn’t want to give me a chance.”

“Break the contract? Why? How?”

“By marrying Ginny Weasley.” Draco answered as evenly as he could manage. This time, his words could not be mistaken or cleverly explained away by Genevieve Fougere. He kept his chin up, proudly defiant, but was still a little grateful when Narcissa tightened her grip on Lucius’s arm. “I’m in love with her, father.” He told Lucius, “I’m not going back to France unless she comes too.”

“Do you think that what you want even matters now?” Henri said coldly. He swished his wand in the air, producing a brittle looking parchment impressed with the Fougere and Malfoy seals. “I believe you’ll see, Mr. Malfoy, in Paragraph 10, clause 8 that the only way to avoid the consequences of breach are to actually be married by midnight…which gives you nearly three more minutes to acquire a wife.”

Draco’s face flashed with panic, and he looked almost frantically toward his father. “Is that true?”

“It is.” Lucius admitted, “This isn’t exactly a situation that my attorneys foresaw.”

Draco’s face reflected desolation but he steadfastly held his ground. “It doesn’t matter!” He insisted, “It doesn’t matter what the contract says. I won’t do it. I refuse!”

“When the contract becomes effective, you’ll be magically compelled fulfill its terms.” Henri retorted hotly. “It’s not a question of what you are and aren’t willing to do.”

Draco made a sound of despair, reaching backwards for Ginny’s hand. He turned to his mother. “There’s nothing we can do?”

“There may be a way.” Narcissa said in a strained tone of voice. Ginny and Draco looked at her hopefully, both holding their breath. Narcissa shot Lucius a worried look, but continued. “Your father and I could disown you…but it would have to be a real disowning- magical and binding…and irreversible.”

Draco blanched, unable to look at Ginny’s face, as he waited for realization to set in, “I wouldn’t be able to offer you anything Gin.” He said quietly, “No house, no money, no prospects…” His voice wavered as his worst fear came true. In the moment of truth, what he had to give to Ginny wouldn’t be enough.

Even though Draco didn’t turn his head, he was achingly aware of the room around him: the glittering chandeliers, the gilded ceiling, the polished marble beneath his feet. Only trappings… he reminded himself, even as he admitted that it would be hard to walk away. They wouldn’t mean anything without Gin.

For her part, Ginny was also cognizant of her surroundings- though she was more acutely conscious of the curious stared witches and wizards ranged around them, than of the luxury of the house and room. Was Narcissa telling the truth? Was there really a way for them to be together? She tried to read Draco’s body language, wondering if she could trust the sincerity it seemed to hold. ”I wouldn’t be able to offer you anything…”

Didn’t he know that he was wrong? Ginny had always been poor. She would find a way to manage. Draco was offering her the only thing that mattered at all!

“Remember the time…” Narcissa’s urgent voice snapped Ginny out of her dream. “You have to decide now.”
Lucius nodded, “After midnight, the contract will be impossible to break.”

It was now or never.

Ginny took her lover’s hand, closing it tightly in hers. “I choose you, Draco.” She said quietly. “You alone with nothing else at all.”

If she had ever doubted that he loved her, those worries were erased as she watched what looked like dawn breaking across his face. “And I want you, Gin.” Draco murmured drawing her close. He smoothed his hands up along her back, crushing her against his body, all the onlookers now buzzing around them be damned. “Nice dress.” He murmured against her ear.

“Its pretty,” She agreed dreamily, “Mum made it.”

“I like the way it feels.”

It felt like a lifetime ago when he had first spoken those words. Ginny finally understood that they had meant “I love you” all along.

“Draco…” She sighed, tipping her chin upwards. Their lips were a hairsbreadth apart, the long-restrained passion between them was almost crackling in the air. Another tilt, another millimeter and they would touch, sealing their decision with a kiss…

And then they froze. Ginny stiffened as the low, hollow gong of the grandfather clock echoed through the silent hall.

“It’s too late!” Odile’s jubilant voice rose above the crowd as she elbowed through the onlookers, dragging her unfortunate daughter in her wake. The clock was still chiming: two…three…four…five… “It’s all over!” The French mama announced with maniacal glee. “You waited too long to make your choice. It’s midnight and the contract can’t be broken.” She thrust her daughter forward, even as the last chime was fading, “Happy Birthday Draco,” She sneered, “You must have a dance with your soon-to-be wife.”

Chapter 23
Mrs. Draco Malfoy

Draco’s fingers curled around Ginny’s waist, stubbornly refusing to let her go, even though he could almost feel her slipping away. He didn’t want to believe it: He had acted too late. Now, even if his mother and father disowned him, like a genie shackled in magical servitude, he would still be forced to comply with the contract’s terms.

“Don’t let it be a love spell!” He thought, as he waited for the effects of the contract curse to rip him away. A magical attraction would make it easier to bear living with Miss Fougere (and it was, frankly, the sort of thing that his mother would probably insist upon) but he didn’t want it to be easy. He didn’t want to forget. Even if the memory of this too-short moment of understanding cut like broken glass he didn’t want to give it away.

“I love you, Ginny.” He whispered desperately into her hair, achingly conscious that a few more seconds was all they had. “I’ll always love you, no matter what. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you soon enough.”

“Draco.” She whispered back, unable to force her mouth into other sounds. She could hear the murmur of the crowd rising again, excited whispers swirling around them like a fog. The moment was almost over. Any second, Draco would feel Genevieve’s hand on his shoulder, Ginny would smell her overpowering perfume, they would hear-

A squawk?

Draco blinked, looked at Ginny, and then turned his eyes toward the sound.

An enormous yellow canary- bursting out of a pale blue dress- was rolling on the floor, scattering feathers as it kicked its legs.

“The twins.” Ginny realized immediately. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Never before had one of their pranks been so perfectly timed.
“We didn’t mean it!” Fred- or was it George?-‘s voice was already carrying over the crowd as he rushed forward, giving his brother a vicious shrug. “You were supposed to put it in Genevieve’s drink!” He growled, coming to a stop beside the unfortunate bird.

The Frenchwoman was, lamentably, unscathed, taking in the spectacle from the fringe of the crowd, even as the Weasley boys gestured in her direction.

“I DID put it in her drink!” The other twin protested, “ Her mum had carried a whole bottle of port out into the hall. I emptied the old stuff out myself the second that she set it down. Refilled her mum’s flask too. She must have switched glasses!”

“Switched glasses?” echoed the first. “Why would she ever do that?”

Instinctively, Ginny’s eyes shifted toward the girl in question, frowning when something didn’t seem quite right. Genevieve’s eyes were bulging at the thought that she might have been the one chirping and flapping in the floor…or maybe she was just bulging.

Ginny frowned. The debutante’s dress, which had fit her elegant figure easily upon her arrival, was now straining at the seams. Her complexion had turned sallow and her hair was slowly shading…blonde?

It took a while for Ginny to place what was happening. Before she could do it, Narcissa shouted.

“That’s not Genevieve Fougere!”

The unfortunate canary was forgotten as the onlookers’ attention shifted to the latest spectacle of the night. Miss Fougere had, indeed, undergone a dramatic transformation as Ginny watched. She no longer looked the part of a lovely, if vicious, debutante. Instead, she now looked decidedly dumpy…and also rather afraid.

“Don’t hex me!” She shrieked, throwing her arms up over her head. This proved to be a wise decision, as Odile’s fan thwacked against her wrists. “Eegnorant child!” she hissed viciously, swiping with the fan again. “You could have been a preencess! You’ve ruined everytheeng! You were supposed to drink zee potion every hour!”

“But meestress I swear zat I deed! I only sat eet down for a moment. Someone else must have….”

“Silence!” Odile roared, slapping the fan cruelly against the young girl’s face, “You eediot!”

Ginny and Draco both blinked at the outrageous scene. Had Odile Fougere just admitted to using a Polyjuice potion on that unfortunate girl? It was Lucius Malfoy who spoke what was on everyone else’s mind.

“What in the third ring of Hades is going on?” He thundered, then turned a sneering gaze on the cowering and fan-whipped “Genevieve”, “And who is this unfortunate girl?”

“Why, it’s my old maid!” A rather stunned Mrs. Bulstrode extracted herself from the masses. “It’s Camille! She tended my clothes and hair last summer when I was in France.”

“A maid?” Lucius roared. “You were trying to wed my son to a servant???”

Henri hefted his chin. “Don’t think for a moment that I don’t know that you would do the same.”

Narcissa’s features looked stunned, “By why?” She asked, “Whatever happened to the real Genevieve Fougere?”

“I think that I can tell you that.” Mrs. Bulstrode was speaking again. “It didn’t occur to me until just now. I mean, I never realized that these were the same Fougere’s that I’d heard people talking about during my holiday in France.”

Lucius waited impatiently for her to continue.

“When I was in Paris, it was all the gossips could talk about- some high society Pureblood girl who’d run away with a Muggle…what do they call them? Those men that steer those rolling box-things?”

“A lorry driver.” A bystander provided.

“A Muggle lorry driver?” Lucius echoed in disbelief.

Henri and Odile finally dipped their heads in shame.

“So the Fougere’s broke the contract!” Draco blurted, his voice jagged with the energy of renewed hope. He beamed for a moment, but then his expression fell, “But if they broke the contract, why haven’t they been cursed?” He didn’t believe for a second that his father was the sort of man to leave a contract entirely in the hands of honor.

“They didn’t break it.” Narcissa surmised with a smile, “Genevieve had the same opt-out as you. I’d guess Genevieve married the boy.”

Mrs. Bulstrode nodded, “From all reports, she’s expecting his baby in the fall.”

“Then there isn’t any contract!” Draco wound his arms around Ginny again. “There isn’t any curse! It isn’t too late after all!”

Lucius had barely registered his son’s erupting glee. “But I needed that contract!” he growled, “Without it, the entire distribution scheme is going to fail!”

“Hasn’t it ever occurred to you,” Narcissa said tersely, “That you could simply agree to a joint venture without any curses?”

Both Lucius and Henri looked stunned…but vaguely intrigued. Narcissa shooed them both toward the door.

Wrapped in Ginny Weasley’s arms, Draco couldn’t care less about Malfoy business affairs. He had spent the last year and a half not kissing Ginny Weasley, and now he was making up for lost time. He felt her pull away and frowned. “What is it?”

“I don’t believe it.” Ginny looked around, “Aren’t fairytales supposed to end at midnight?”

Draco smiled, “Sometimes.”

“But this time its really true…” Ginny laid her head against his chest. “You don’t have to get married?”

“Not to Genevieve.” Draco lifted his hand to her chin, tipping it upwards until he was staring into her eyes, “It’s you I want, Gin.” He said softly, not caring that everyone would hear.

He reached into his pocket, plucking out the signet ring that he had reclaimed from his father. “I always wondered how this would look on your finger.” He said, kissing the back of her hand and then lifting it toward the ring. He was about to slide it into place when yet another interruption occurred.

“Now wait just a minute!”

Draco froze as the booming voice of Madame Mynuet broke in. “I…er….excuse me?” He murmured, looking to Ginny for a clue of how to proceed.

The matron stalked toward Draco, moving quickly for a woman of her years, then slapped down his hand with her cane. “Engaged women are not eligible for the Debutante crown!” she snapped.

Ginny’s eyes widened even as, behind her, Mrs. Greengrass was emitting nervous squeaks, “But…er….Miss Weasley was only third pla-”

Mynuet wheeled on her fellow committee member, eyes blazing. “Miss Fougere is no longer eligible, it would seem.” She pointed out reasonably.

“But Miss Tha-“

All it took was a narrowing of Madame’s eyes to quell any further complaint. “I’ve amended my scoring.” She announce with authority.

“But her total points are still less tha-”

“I amended yours too!” Mynuet barked back, her eyes daring Mrs. Greengrass to resist. She turned to Mrs. Malfoy, “Yours too, Narcissa. I hope that you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” The blonde replied, her lips stretching into a grin.

“Well then, if we’re in agreement…” She twisted her wand out of the cane and made an two slashes in the air with her wand. There was a puff of pink smoke, and then the Debutante crown appeared, hovering just above her head. “Miss Weasley.” She said, calling the girl forward.

Draco was surprised when she didn’t go. She stood stock still, alternating her gaze between her lover and the shimmering tiara. “What are you waiting for?” He whispered, nudging her to go.

Ginny held her ground. “No.” She said finally. “I don’t want it.”

“After all your work?”

She twined her fingers in his pulling them against her chest, “I wasn’t working for the crown, Draco.”

“Still- if you’ve earned it...”

“I thought I wasn’t cut out for that sort of thing.” She said pointedly.

Draco shook his head. “Okay, so I was wrong…but we’ve already proven that tonight.” He took her shoulder, steering it gently toward Madame Mynuet. “Take it, Gin.”

“You’re sure?”

He grinned in answer, “I’m sure. After all- it’s a Malfoy wife tradition.”

Wife. Ginny felt her heart swell at the words. Now, more than ever, she didn’t want to let him go, but somehow her feet carried her forward toward Madame Mynuet. The older woman swished her wand again, and they were suddenly standing on a raised dais in the center of the hall. Madame directed Ginny where to stand, and then began to speak.

“The Daughters of Hecate Debutante Ball was established to train our young women in the arts of charm and deportment, and to nurture their inherent intelligence and self-possession. In this programme, the past and future are joined. The young women of our circle are trained in wizarding traditions which we hope that they will continue throughout their lives, and pass on to the generations to come.” She returned her gaze for Ginny, and the girl warmed to feel a gaze of approval, just as strong as any censure that the woman had ever levied, “Each year we choose the finest example of wizarding girl to wear this crown. To earn it, that young lady must demonstrate achievement in the practical domestic arts, but possess many inherent qualities as well. She must demonstrate poise, passion, and grace. You have exhibited excellence in all three.” She plucked the glittering crown from the air and held it over her head, “I present to you, Witches and Wizards, this year’s Debutante Queen…Miss Ginevra Weasley.”

Tears glittered in Ginny’s eyes as she felt the weight of the tiara settle onto her head. The orchestra began playing and, as soon as the dais had vanished away, and her feet had drifted back to the floor, she felt Draco sweep her into his arms and lead her into a dance.

“I think I promised this dance to Oliver.” Ginny teased, not really worried about her date’s reaction, but wondering for the first time where he was.

“Wood?” Draco asked, blinking. “I thought I…er…saw him in the hall.”

“Doing what?”

Malfoy grinned, “I think who is the question you are looking for.” He laughed, pulling her closer, “And the Answer is Anne Greenbugg…I think there might be something there.”

As if on cue, the Puddlemere United keeper emerged from a curtained alcove, lipstick on his collar and a rosy and rumpled looking Miss Greenbugg in tow. “What’d we miss?” He asked.

Anne scanned the ballroom floor, spying Ginny and Draco immediately. They were both lost in a world of their own, their faces rapturous with the joy of being together at last. Though she barely knew the couple, she could tell from a glance that this was love for keeps.

“It looks like the happy ending.” She whispered.

She was right.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The pleasure of your company is requested by
Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy

~~

and

~~

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley

On Saturday, October 15th at 2:30 PM,

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

When they invite you to witness the marriage of their children:

Draco Accolon Black Malfoy

~~

and

~~

Ginevra Molly Weasley

Reception to follow

R.S.V.P.

THE END