Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter is all J.K. Rowling’s. Chapter title is from Phantom of the Opera. Cinderella was written by Charles Perault and Beauty and the Beast by Leprince de Beaumont. Credit for the menu goes to Epicurious.com and Bon Appetit Magazine’s “Elegant Winter Dinner.” If you’re curious, it’s at the end.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 2: Hide Your Face So the World Will Never Find You
Ginny surveyed the menu one last time. She was quite proud of herself; the house elves had liked her ideas and she hoped everyone else would too. Hermione had glanced at it quickly before rushing off to finish the decorations and she hadn’t had anything negative to say, so Ginny supposed it was suitable. Not that Hermione had looked too closely. As usual, hardly anyone had done what he or she was supposed to do for the ball, leaving a very active and irritable Hermione to organize the entire event.
That stupid ball! It was two days away and it was all anyone talked about. Ron and Harry had both come to her to ask about costume advice after Hermione had snapped at them for interrupting her. Ginny suggested that they dress up like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. When they were less than impressed by that idea (Ron had just stared at her with a bemused look on his face), she reminded them the whole purpose of the ball was secrecy.
Secrecy- hah! Everyone knew what everyone else was wearing. Parvati was going as a mermaid (surprise, surprise, Ginny thought), while Lavender had found the “perfect” dress, but couldn’t figure out what she should call herself. And in her Charms class the other day she’d heard one of the Ravenclaw girls, whose roommate was dating a Hufflepuff boy, whose cousin was in the same DADA class as the 7th year Syltherins, say that Pansy Parkinson would be wearing nothing at all! Ginny wouldn’t put it past her, though she had little faith in the rumor train.
“Stare at it long enough and it might just come to life,” an arrogant voice drawled from behind her. Startled, Ginny jumped and spun around to seen none other than Draco Malfoy standing there. “Oh, did I scare you?” he smirked.
“What do you want?” Ginny demanded irritably, her good mood long gone. The Head Boy had done nothing for the ball so far, even though he was in charge of setting up, and now he was standing in the middle of the Hall as if nothing was wrong, while everyone else rushed around setting up.
“Well, everyone else seems to be doing my job, so I thought I’d come to see what we’re to eat at this ball,” he replied. “You probably need my assistance now, little Weasel, as you’ve had so little experience with gourmet food.”
“I’ve had more than you,” Ginny retorted angrily. “At least I actually know how to cook. You probably make the house elves do all the work!”
“Of course,” Malfoy smirked again. “That’s what they’re there for.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and turned away, not wanting to bother with Malfoy anymore. But before she could move away, Malfoy had grabbed the menu from her hand and was reading it.
“Pumpkin juice and butterbeer? How very trite of you – surely we can expect something a little more elegant to drink?” he sneered. “Not to mention that it doesn’t go with the rest of the meal. Dilled gravlax is more common at cocktail parties, not at a formal ball. But if you’re going to have it, there’s no need for foie gras as well, because two appetizers is a bit much. And veal chops? Surely you could have thought of something more exotic than that! And lemon-barley pilaf? Where in the world did you come up with that?”
“I did a lot of research,” Ginny snapped, regretting it immediately when Malfoy only glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.
“Oh really? Of course, you’ve never tasted any of this,” Malfoy said derisively. “Well, chocolate-amaretti tortes don’t go with this type of meal. Do you really plan to feed us this?”
“Yes,” Ginny snapped, flushing angrily as she grabbed the menu back. She wished she didn’t blush so easily; she knew her face was turning bright red. “So maybe I’ve never even seen half of this, and maybe butterbeer shouldn’t be served at a party like this, and maybe you have a problem with all of it, but, ferret, I don’t care!”
Head held high she stormed off towards the kitchen where she could find the house elves and force them to make this meal, dilled gravlax and all.
~*~*~*~*~*~
If Draco was completely honest with himself – and he was never completely honest if he could help it – he would have to admit that the little Weasel had come up with quite a decent menu. In fact, it was more than decent. Ignoring the butterbeer, it was the type of meal the Malfoy chef would serve. But he couldn’t have admitted that to her. After being dragged away from the Food Committee, only to find that he – a connoisseur of the finest delicacies – wasn’t needed there after all, well, it was just too much. Perhaps he’d succeeded in torturing the youngest Weasley into changing her menu and creating something disastrous instead.
He couldn’t deny how much fun it had been to torment her, though. Apparently the Malfoy gift of cruelty wasn’t completely lost. Granger had already snapped at him twice today. The Weaselette was near tears. Now if he could only get rid of Pansy, who was trying to discover what his non-existent costume was, he’d consider the day a successful one.
“Were you bothering my sister?” a loud voice demanded from behind Draco.
“Ah, Weasel.” Draco turned around, preparing to sharpen his tongue on the redheaded Gryffindor. “She needed my help on the menu for this grand catastrophe.”
“I hope you told her to get rid of the gravlax, or whatever they were,” Weasley said instantly, making a face. “Sounded disgusting to me.” He seemed to realize to whom he was talking and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t go near her again, Malfoy.”
“Can’t imagine why you think I’d want to.” Staring over Weasley’s shoulder, Draco saw Pansy enter the hall, glancing around as if looking for someone. He wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to find her target. Abandoning the torture of Weasel, he moved away quickly. But not too quickly – Malfoys never run away.
Making his way back to his room, Draco thought about the letter he’d received earlier today. His mother, ever the fashion queen, had heard about the ball and had written with many costume suggestions. Since it was the first time Draco had heard from her in months, he figured his attire – and an opportunity for his mother to design some elegant outfit - meant more to her than the well being of her son. Of course, there was a certain reputation to think of; Malfoys always looked better than all the other lesser beings in the room. But her ideas of going as a knight, or a king, or an ancient Olympian god had all been ridiculous. Armor wasn’t really conductive to, well, anything and there was no way he was going to put on a toga, even if it meant having a chance to play Zeus.
Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway, stunned he was even considering this. He wasn’t going, right? The whole thing was ridiculous and a waste of time.
The truth was, Draco kind of liked the idea of going in a costume – one no one else knew about. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with Crabbe and Goyle following him around, or Pansy chasing after him. No one would know who he was, so he could pretty much do whatever he wanted.
For one night it wouldn’t matter if he was a Malfoy or not.
As much as he did not want to admit it, the idea had a lot of appeal.
And, of course, he could just owl his mother’s fashion designer for a costume.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Ginny examined herself in the mirror one last time. The white gown sparkled in the light as she smoothed down the skirt that billowed out from the tight bodice. It was a dress from a fairytale, something every little girl dreamed of wearing. But Ginny felt very much a young woman in it – elegant and perhaps even beautiful. She smiled triumphantly at her reflection. After hours of Transfiguring her dress robes just for this night, her costume was finished and she was pleased with her work.
Though Ginny had spent many hours silently grumbling about the stupid ball, the idea for her costume had done much to make the spectacle ahead a little less horrifying. Now that she was actually wearing it, Ginny wondered why she’d ever thought a masquerade ball was a stupid idea.
Next she cast a glamour over her hair. Tonight she wouldn’t be a Weasley – no red hair for her. Turning her head to one side she saw a deep brown, which was soon overtaken by a blonde, while the light on the other side of her head caught a light brown and a hint of auburn, all in a cascade of curls. Perfect.
Sticking her wand into her bodice she put the silver mask over her eyes and turned to the final touch – glass slippers.
Well, she couldn’t be Cinderella without them, could she?
Hermione had a book of Muggle fairytales, complete with beautiful illustrations. Ginny had fallen in love with it as soon as Hermione had shown it to her. Let others laugh; the Muggle fairytales entranced her. When Hermione had decided to go as Beauty, from Beauty and the Beast, Ginny knew immediately who she wanted to be. The picture of Cinderella going to the ball in that beautiful dress, with her pumpkin carriage led by mice Transfigured into horses was Ginny’s favorite. And Ginny felt a bit like Cinderella – always dreaming that her rags would be turned into riches.
Well, she had her wish, at least for tonight.
Everyone else had already left, which was probably just as well. She didn’t want anyone to identify the elegant princess as Ginny Weasley. That was why she had decided not to go with Hermione, Harry and Ron or any of her other friends, even though they had all insisted. With everyone going in groups, she was probably the only person whose costume was a secret. The whole idea behind that masquerade ball was pretty much ruined; even Hermione had told everyone she was going as Beauty. She had also tried to convince either Harry or Ron to go as the Beast, but neither of them had liked that idea. The end result was the inevitable quidditch player outfit. Ginny figured there’d be enough people at the ball similarly attired to make up more than one team.
Slipping her feet into the glass slippers – triply charmed with Unbreakable charms – Ginny took a deep breath. It wasn’t like she wanted to find her prince tonight, or anything silly like that. She just wanted to spend one night as anyone other than Ginny Weasley.
Leaving her room, Ginny walked through the common room, empty of all but a few young students, all of whom stared at her with the jealousy and curiosity of young children not allowed to do something their elders are doing. But Ginny hardly noticed them, so intent as she was upon reaching the Great Hall.
As soon as she entered, Ginny had to stop and marvel at Hermione’s skill. The entire room seemed to glow, with lights hanging from the starry ceiling, and evergreen trees shimmering along the walls. Tables lined one side of the room, where a few people mingled, eating snacks, and a band was at the far end of the room, playing slow music. A few brave souls had moved to the middle of the floor to dance, including a few of the teachers. Hagrid was hard to miss, even in his costume (not that Ginny could really figure out what the brightly colored, furry costume was supposed to be), and Professor Dumbledore appeared to be dressed like a Muggle clown.
Moving along the outskirts of the crowd, Ginny noticed how few people were really trying to remain disguised. Some people had even taken of their masks. She spotted Hermione, wearing a yellow gown and sharply ordering someone around, while Harry and Ron, her broom-carrying bodyguards, stood at either side silently. Moving behind them, Ginny tried to make her way to the other side of the room.
“Where’s Ginny?” she overheard Ron demand loudly. “Hermione, don’t you know what she’s wearing? And why wouldn’t she come with us? I don’t want her going off with Seamus or anyone else again. Of course, she can dance with Harry.”
Rolling her eyes, Ginny moved away before the trio could see her. How typical of Ron to be worrying about with whom she was dancing. He was easily the most protective of her brothers.
Stationing herself in the corner, by a door to the outside, Ginny watched everyone else dance by and wondered how Cinderella had managed to attract the attention of the prince with so little effort.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco downed another glass of punch while irritably surveying the room again. It was so easy to see where everyone was. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to think their Slytherin quidditch outfits were acceptable at a masquerade ball; Pansy was wearing some skimpy, glittery thing, though Draco didn’t know who – or what – she was trying to be; and Granger was bustling around in bright yellow, presumably dressed up as Beauty.
“As if she could personify beauty,” Draco muttered to no one in particular. “Pity she didn’t get one of her sidekicks to dress up as the Beast – not that they’d need a costume.”
He glanced around again, desperately hoping that someone decently and interestingly disguised would appear. After all, he had come to avoid his usual acquaintances. And so far no one had guessed who he was.
He had decided to skip the fashion designer and, in a very un-Malfoy like move, created his own costume. He knew his parents wouldn’t approve of their only son dressed as a pirate (“Too common, my dear,” his mother would sniff. “We’re better than coarse thieves.”), but something about their rich, extravagant and wild lifestyle had always intrigued Draco – with emphasis on the rich part.
“I think I’ll go wander outside,” Draco announced to thin air. He sauntered towards the doorway and out into the gardens, away from the dreadful music.
The only sound that could be heard there was the splashing of the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Wondering if this fountain was normally there or if Granger had created it too, Draco walked around it.
And came face to face with – well, he didn’t know who she was. He prided himself on his knowledge of Hogwarts girls. He knew all of the Slytherin girls and most of the Ravenclaws, as well as any of the Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors worth noticing – and quite a few of them not worth noticing too – but she certainly wasn’t any of them. He couldn’t really tell what color her hair was and her eyes were hidden behind a mask, but there was something intriguing about her all the same. She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, her white dress spread out around her.
“Oh!” she cried when she saw him.
“Enjoying the moonlight alone?” Draco queried. He sat down on the bench opposite her, wondering if the Malfoy charm would work even with a mask on.
“It was getting a bit stuffy in there,” she replied, turning her head to glance at the Great Hall. Draco could see browns, blonds and reds in her hair, but no sign of what her true hair color was.
“I don’t think I know you,” he said finally, because she seemed to be waiting for him to speak.
“Well, it is a masquerade ball, that’s the whole idea,” she retorted with a touch of sarcasm.
“Alright then, no names,” Draco smiled. The girl smiled back, but made no effort to start a conversation. He was studying her dress, wondering if she was another one of the many princesses at the ball, when he spotted the glass slippers on her feet.
“Cinderella!” he cried, without thinking. She gave him a surprised look.
“You know?” she asked. “So few witches and wizards do.”
“My mother used to read Muggle fairytales to me when I was little,” he explained, feeling more than a little ashamed as he admitted to it. It was a good thing she didn’t know who he was – imagine someone finding out that Malfoys read fairytales, and Muggle ones at that!
“Ah,” she smiled. “Her – my friend has a book, and I’ve always loved the story of Cinderella.”
“That was my favorite too,” Draco replied, surprising himself with his own words. He tried to tell himself that he was just saying what she wanted to hear, but he had always liked that one best.
“You’re a pirate,” she stated. Draco thought that, give his attire, that was evident.
“Always seemed like a good lifestyle,” he replied.
“Plundering and pillaging? Full of swashbuckling and treasure?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips.
“I’d be a rich pirate,” Draco smirked.
“The best kind,” she agreed, clearly trying to hide her laughter. “A poor pirate holds so little glamor.”
“Pity I get seasick so easily,” Draco said, instantly wondering why he has just said that. Why couldn’t he control what he was saying to this stranger?
“That might be a small problem,” she agreed mock-seriously. “It would take all the fun out of it if you were constantly sick.”
“Definitely not in my career path then,” Draco agreed. “What about you – waiting for your prince to come?”
“Huh!” she gave an unladylike snort. “As if. I think pirating sounds more fun than scrubbing floors until the right man shows up.”
“Yet you decided to be Cinderella?” Draco pointed out.
“Why do men always think that a woman can’t be independent and successful and still like looking pretty – or dreaming about Prince Charming turning up?” she asked rhetorically. “I can transform myself into Cinderella for the night, but in reality Prince Charming still won’t be here tomorrow. Cinderella would have been far better off throwing her broom in her stepmother’s face and leaving.”
Until she said that, Draco had been so sure that she wasn’t a Slytherin. Slytherins didn’t admit to having read Cinderella. Slytherin women were far more likely to dress up as the evil fairy from Sleeping Beauty.
Draco realized with a pang that he, Draco Malfoy, head of Slytherin, had just admitted to reading Cinderella.
“Not much for the fairy godmother to do, then,” he pointed out, ignoring the little part of him that was criticizing his most un-Malfoy-like behavior. What ever happened to a simple seduction?
“That’s what I need,” the girl said, brightening. “A fairy godmother!”
“Or a genie in a magic lamp,” Draco agreed, betraying his level of knowledge of fairytales once again.
“I prefer the fairy godmother – unlimited amount of wishes, no restrictions,” she replied, voicing yet another Slytherin point of view that made Draco wonder. She smiled at him. “What would you wish for?”
The question took him by surprise. What would he ask for? In a much more Malfoy-like manner, he instantly dismissed anything that didn’t directly benefit him. But other than unlimited wealth, more mindless slaves, the extinction of all creatures like Potter, Weasley and Granger, what did he want?
She was watching him curiously, so Draco decided to change the subject. “What would you wish for?”
“To be someone else – someone visible,” she replied, with a trace of bitterness. “People never see me. They think they know me, but they really don’t.”
It was an interesting wish – and one that made Draco uncomfortably empathetic.
“But that’s what we are tonight,” he pointed out. “Different people.”
“But still invisible.” Her eyes met his and she smiled ruefully. “So you’re no pirate and I’m no Cinderella. How many other people do you think chose a costume tonight in order to pretend to be something they’re definitely not?”
“Judging by the quidditch team of appalling players, I’d say quite a few,” Draco replied.
“Are you the expert on quidditch prowess now?” she queried.
“I happen to be quite good, thank you,” Draco retorted, stung. When she only laughed, he relaxed slightly. “Well, anyone wearing a Chudley Cannons uniform obviously knows nothing about quidditch.”
Soon they were locked in an impassioned quidditch discussion. Draco was surprised at how much she knew about quidditch. He couldn’t remember having a conversation about quidditch with any of the girls he’d dated – or one about fairytales, pirates and fairy godmothers either.
Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember ever having an interesting conversation with any girl. Who was she?
~*~*~*~*~*~
Ginny had gone outside to find some solitude where Ron couldn’t find her and throw her at Harry. Instead she’d found an elegantly dressed pirate, wearing all black except for the red velvet cape. His mask had a patch across one eye and a pirate’s hat complete with skull-and-crossbones sat askew on his head. The sword that hung at his waist and the hook for a hand completed the outfit.
And not only did he look like he’d just stepped out a book, he had read – and enjoyed – Cinderella and could argue quite passionately, but fairly, about quidditch. So many boys just wanted to talk about their views of quidditch and treat her like a silly girl who didn’t know anything – if they wanted to talk at all.
This stranger was leaning across the fountain, drawing pictures in the air with his hook and eagerly explaining the fault and strengths of the Holyhead Harpies, a team that most boys dismissed.
Ginny didn’t know when she’d been happier. In fact, she was so eagerly inspecting him she didn’t notice he’d stopped talking and was pulling the end of his cape out of the fountain, where it seemed to have fallen.
“Damn fountain, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t here yesterday,” he muttered, drying his cape with a flick of his wand.
“So why did you come out here?” Ginny asked, desperate to say something. The minute she did she felt like eating her words again – could she sound any ruder?
He didn’t seem bothered by it. “The obnoxious music and intolerable chattering was getting on my nerves,” he replied, with a trace of arrogance. “I thought I’d try to find some more sophisticated company.” With a slow smile, he added, “And here you are.”
Ginny hadn’t grown up with six brothers and endured three boyfriends to be unable to distinguish outrageous flirting when she saw it. Normally she had a sharp remark for whoever tried such worthless lines on her.
This time she blushed.
“Why are you hiding out here?” he continued.
“I didn’t want my brother to see me,” she admitted. “I doubt he’d recognize me, but he can be pretty persistent and he keep trying to set me up with Har - his friend.”
“Are you going to throw a broom in his face?” he asked. Ginny laughed at the thought, though she knew that for all her view of what Cinderella should have told her family, Ginny could never do it herself.
“That’s easier said than done, isn’t it?” she replied, hoping he didn’t think her dreadfully hypocritical.
“Very,” he agreed with a smile. “I’ll throw it in his face for you, if you want.”
“I might just take you up on that,” she laughed, enjoying the mental picture.
“Hungry?” he asked abruptly. “I hear the food’s good.”
“Really?” Ginny asked, hiding her elation over the praise of her addition to the ball.
“You can’t go wrong with dilled gravlax,” he smiled.
“I’ve never had it,” Ginny replied, awkwardly. She was sure that this mysterious stranger had tasted and experienced many of the exotic things she had only read about.
“Perhaps we should venture inside and find some,” he suggested. Ginny glanced towards the Great Hall, where she saw Ron arguing with Hermione, over something petty no doubt.
“Uh,” Ginny ransacked her brain for a decent excuse. “Maybe -.”
“Oh, you’re hiding from your brother,” he nodded. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure you taste it some other time, then.”
The idea of meeting him again thrilled Ginny. Then again, maybe this was all just a dream, some farfetched fairytale. Or maybe he would be extremely dull out of costume.
Ginny really couldn’t imagine this man as dull, even if he didn’t look always like a pirate. Though the realization that she didn’t know who he was, but would probably recognize him on a normal day, had crossed her mind, she preferred to think of him as someone new and exciting whom she had never seen before.
“I’ll remind you of that,” she retorted with a smile.
He moved closer to her, still smiling that smile which made Ginny feel very nervous - in a very good way.
Ginny turned around so she was facing him and let her glass slippers fall to the ground. Dangling her feet in the water, she wondered why she couldn’t think of anything to say. Earlier she’d certainly had enough to say – about Cinderella, and her one wish, and quidditch.
She was so busy thinking about what to do next, she didn’t realize what he was doing until he was kissing her.
Ginny had been kissed before, plenty of times. But all of those kisses had been a bit of a disappointment. For all her feminist outlook on life, Ginny was a romantic at heart. She’d always dreamed of some handsome, elegant man kissing her under the stars. And the kisses of her dreams were always electrifyingly sweet and breathtakingly perfect.
Which was exactly how she felt now.
When he pulled away, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “You never answered my question – about your wish.”
“I just did,” he replied, before kissing her again.
Ginny knew it was unbelievably corny and normally she would have laughed at anyone who thought she would fall for that. But right then she didn’t care.
Considering her transformation from rags to riches, her meeting with him and the way the entire night had played out like a fairytale, in hindsight she realized it was fitting that it should end at midnight.
At the time, however, she didn’t think it fitting at all.
The chiming clock caused Ginny to remember Hermione warning her earlier to meet her in the Great Hall for clean-up at midnight. The memory of Hermione’s tone and her knowledge of her irrepressible friend forced Ginny back to reality.
“I-I have to go.” She spluttered, jumping to her feet. In a moment Hermione – and maybe even Ron or Harry - would turn up to drag her back to the Hall and everything would be ruined. In her frantic mind she envisioned her dress turning back into her old dress robes and her prince – er, pirate – laughing at the thought of having mistaken Ginny Weasley for someone else.
She ran into the Hall, where people were slowly drifting away, and found Hermione organizing a massive clean up of the food-strewn hall. Ginny made her presence know to Hermione, and after enduring various remarks about her costume and her whereabouts that evening – ranging from Hermione’s abstractly irritable remarks to Ron’s accusatory ones – she managed to escape without a job to do.
It was only when she arrived in Gryffindor Tower that she realized she had never discovered his real identity.
And that she’d left her glass slippers behind.
~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: It took many drafts to come up with suitable costumes and conversations for Draco and Ginny. Cinderella was a pretty easy choice, and I thought Draco would make a good pirate, but I hope that their conversation is in character enough. And I have absolutely no idea what dilled gravlax actually is, but it sounded interesting. J
Thanks for all the reviews!
Pumpkin juice
Butterbeer
* * * *
Dilled Gravlax with Mustard Sauce
Foie Gras and Cream Eggs
* * * *
Veal Chops with Rosemary Butter
Pancetta Green Beans
Lemon-Barley Pilaf
* * * *
Chocolate-Amaretti Tortes
Chapter 2: Hide Your Face So the World Will Never Find You
Ginny surveyed the menu one last time. She was quite proud of herself; the house elves had liked her ideas and she hoped everyone else would too. Hermione had glanced at it quickly before rushing off to finish the decorations and she hadn’t had anything negative to say, so Ginny supposed it was suitable. Not that Hermione had looked too closely. As usual, hardly anyone had done what he or she was supposed to do for the ball, leaving a very active and irritable Hermione to organize the entire event.
That stupid ball! It was two days away and it was all anyone talked about. Ron and Harry had both come to her to ask about costume advice after Hermione had snapped at them for interrupting her. Ginny suggested that they dress up like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. When they were less than impressed by that idea (Ron had just stared at her with a bemused look on his face), she reminded them the whole purpose of the ball was secrecy.
Secrecy- hah! Everyone knew what everyone else was wearing. Parvati was going as a mermaid (surprise, surprise, Ginny thought), while Lavender had found the “perfect” dress, but couldn’t figure out what she should call herself. And in her Charms class the other day she’d heard one of the Ravenclaw girls, whose roommate was dating a Hufflepuff boy, whose cousin was in the same DADA class as the 7th year Syltherins, say that Pansy Parkinson would be wearing nothing at all! Ginny wouldn’t put it past her, though she had little faith in the rumor train.
“Stare at it long enough and it might just come to life,” an arrogant voice drawled from behind her. Startled, Ginny jumped and spun around to seen none other than Draco Malfoy standing there. “Oh, did I scare you?” he smirked.
“What do you want?” Ginny demanded irritably, her good mood long gone. The Head Boy had done nothing for the ball so far, even though he was in charge of setting up, and now he was standing in the middle of the Hall as if nothing was wrong, while everyone else rushed around setting up.
“Well, everyone else seems to be doing my job, so I thought I’d come to see what we’re to eat at this ball,” he replied. “You probably need my assistance now, little Weasel, as you’ve had so little experience with gourmet food.”
“I’ve had more than you,” Ginny retorted angrily. “At least I actually know how to cook. You probably make the house elves do all the work!”
“Of course,” Malfoy smirked again. “That’s what they’re there for.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and turned away, not wanting to bother with Malfoy anymore. But before she could move away, Malfoy had grabbed the menu from her hand and was reading it.
“Pumpkin juice and butterbeer? How very trite of you – surely we can expect something a little more elegant to drink?” he sneered. “Not to mention that it doesn’t go with the rest of the meal. Dilled gravlax is more common at cocktail parties, not at a formal ball. But if you’re going to have it, there’s no need for foie gras as well, because two appetizers is a bit much. And veal chops? Surely you could have thought of something more exotic than that! And lemon-barley pilaf? Where in the world did you come up with that?”
“I did a lot of research,” Ginny snapped, regretting it immediately when Malfoy only glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.
“Oh really? Of course, you’ve never tasted any of this,” Malfoy said derisively. “Well, chocolate-amaretti tortes don’t go with this type of meal. Do you really plan to feed us this?”
“Yes,” Ginny snapped, flushing angrily as she grabbed the menu back. She wished she didn’t blush so easily; she knew her face was turning bright red. “So maybe I’ve never even seen half of this, and maybe butterbeer shouldn’t be served at a party like this, and maybe you have a problem with all of it, but, ferret, I don’t care!”
Head held high she stormed off towards the kitchen where she could find the house elves and force them to make this meal, dilled gravlax and all.
If Draco was completely honest with himself – and he was never completely honest if he could help it – he would have to admit that the little Weasel had come up with quite a decent menu. In fact, it was more than decent. Ignoring the butterbeer, it was the type of meal the Malfoy chef would serve. But he couldn’t have admitted that to her. After being dragged away from the Food Committee, only to find that he – a connoisseur of the finest delicacies – wasn’t needed there after all, well, it was just too much. Perhaps he’d succeeded in torturing the youngest Weasley into changing her menu and creating something disastrous instead.
He couldn’t deny how much fun it had been to torment her, though. Apparently the Malfoy gift of cruelty wasn’t completely lost. Granger had already snapped at him twice today. The Weaselette was near tears. Now if he could only get rid of Pansy, who was trying to discover what his non-existent costume was, he’d consider the day a successful one.
“Were you bothering my sister?” a loud voice demanded from behind Draco.
“Ah, Weasel.” Draco turned around, preparing to sharpen his tongue on the redheaded Gryffindor. “She needed my help on the menu for this grand catastrophe.”
“I hope you told her to get rid of the gravlax, or whatever they were,” Weasley said instantly, making a face. “Sounded disgusting to me.” He seemed to realize to whom he was talking and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t go near her again, Malfoy.”
“Can’t imagine why you think I’d want to.” Staring over Weasley’s shoulder, Draco saw Pansy enter the hall, glancing around as if looking for someone. He wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to find her target. Abandoning the torture of Weasel, he moved away quickly. But not too quickly – Malfoys never run away.
Making his way back to his room, Draco thought about the letter he’d received earlier today. His mother, ever the fashion queen, had heard about the ball and had written with many costume suggestions. Since it was the first time Draco had heard from her in months, he figured his attire – and an opportunity for his mother to design some elegant outfit - meant more to her than the well being of her son. Of course, there was a certain reputation to think of; Malfoys always looked better than all the other lesser beings in the room. But her ideas of going as a knight, or a king, or an ancient Olympian god had all been ridiculous. Armor wasn’t really conductive to, well, anything and there was no way he was going to put on a toga, even if it meant having a chance to play Zeus.
Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway, stunned he was even considering this. He wasn’t going, right? The whole thing was ridiculous and a waste of time.
The truth was, Draco kind of liked the idea of going in a costume – one no one else knew about. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with Crabbe and Goyle following him around, or Pansy chasing after him. No one would know who he was, so he could pretty much do whatever he wanted.
For one night it wouldn’t matter if he was a Malfoy or not.
As much as he did not want to admit it, the idea had a lot of appeal.
And, of course, he could just owl his mother’s fashion designer for a costume.
Ginny examined herself in the mirror one last time. The white gown sparkled in the light as she smoothed down the skirt that billowed out from the tight bodice. It was a dress from a fairytale, something every little girl dreamed of wearing. But Ginny felt very much a young woman in it – elegant and perhaps even beautiful. She smiled triumphantly at her reflection. After hours of Transfiguring her dress robes just for this night, her costume was finished and she was pleased with her work.
Though Ginny had spent many hours silently grumbling about the stupid ball, the idea for her costume had done much to make the spectacle ahead a little less horrifying. Now that she was actually wearing it, Ginny wondered why she’d ever thought a masquerade ball was a stupid idea.
Next she cast a glamour over her hair. Tonight she wouldn’t be a Weasley – no red hair for her. Turning her head to one side she saw a deep brown, which was soon overtaken by a blonde, while the light on the other side of her head caught a light brown and a hint of auburn, all in a cascade of curls. Perfect.
Sticking her wand into her bodice she put the silver mask over her eyes and turned to the final touch – glass slippers.
Well, she couldn’t be Cinderella without them, could she?
Hermione had a book of Muggle fairytales, complete with beautiful illustrations. Ginny had fallen in love with it as soon as Hermione had shown it to her. Let others laugh; the Muggle fairytales entranced her. When Hermione had decided to go as Beauty, from Beauty and the Beast, Ginny knew immediately who she wanted to be. The picture of Cinderella going to the ball in that beautiful dress, with her pumpkin carriage led by mice Transfigured into horses was Ginny’s favorite. And Ginny felt a bit like Cinderella – always dreaming that her rags would be turned into riches.
Well, she had her wish, at least for tonight.
Everyone else had already left, which was probably just as well. She didn’t want anyone to identify the elegant princess as Ginny Weasley. That was why she had decided not to go with Hermione, Harry and Ron or any of her other friends, even though they had all insisted. With everyone going in groups, she was probably the only person whose costume was a secret. The whole idea behind that masquerade ball was pretty much ruined; even Hermione had told everyone she was going as Beauty. She had also tried to convince either Harry or Ron to go as the Beast, but neither of them had liked that idea. The end result was the inevitable quidditch player outfit. Ginny figured there’d be enough people at the ball similarly attired to make up more than one team.
Slipping her feet into the glass slippers – triply charmed with Unbreakable charms – Ginny took a deep breath. It wasn’t like she wanted to find her prince tonight, or anything silly like that. She just wanted to spend one night as anyone other than Ginny Weasley.
Leaving her room, Ginny walked through the common room, empty of all but a few young students, all of whom stared at her with the jealousy and curiosity of young children not allowed to do something their elders are doing. But Ginny hardly noticed them, so intent as she was upon reaching the Great Hall.
As soon as she entered, Ginny had to stop and marvel at Hermione’s skill. The entire room seemed to glow, with lights hanging from the starry ceiling, and evergreen trees shimmering along the walls. Tables lined one side of the room, where a few people mingled, eating snacks, and a band was at the far end of the room, playing slow music. A few brave souls had moved to the middle of the floor to dance, including a few of the teachers. Hagrid was hard to miss, even in his costume (not that Ginny could really figure out what the brightly colored, furry costume was supposed to be), and Professor Dumbledore appeared to be dressed like a Muggle clown.
Moving along the outskirts of the crowd, Ginny noticed how few people were really trying to remain disguised. Some people had even taken of their masks. She spotted Hermione, wearing a yellow gown and sharply ordering someone around, while Harry and Ron, her broom-carrying bodyguards, stood at either side silently. Moving behind them, Ginny tried to make her way to the other side of the room.
“Where’s Ginny?” she overheard Ron demand loudly. “Hermione, don’t you know what she’s wearing? And why wouldn’t she come with us? I don’t want her going off with Seamus or anyone else again. Of course, she can dance with Harry.”
Rolling her eyes, Ginny moved away before the trio could see her. How typical of Ron to be worrying about with whom she was dancing. He was easily the most protective of her brothers.
Stationing herself in the corner, by a door to the outside, Ginny watched everyone else dance by and wondered how Cinderella had managed to attract the attention of the prince with so little effort.
Draco downed another glass of punch while irritably surveying the room again. It was so easy to see where everyone was. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to think their Slytherin quidditch outfits were acceptable at a masquerade ball; Pansy was wearing some skimpy, glittery thing, though Draco didn’t know who – or what – she was trying to be; and Granger was bustling around in bright yellow, presumably dressed up as Beauty.
“As if she could personify beauty,” Draco muttered to no one in particular. “Pity she didn’t get one of her sidekicks to dress up as the Beast – not that they’d need a costume.”
He glanced around again, desperately hoping that someone decently and interestingly disguised would appear. After all, he had come to avoid his usual acquaintances. And so far no one had guessed who he was.
He had decided to skip the fashion designer and, in a very un-Malfoy like move, created his own costume. He knew his parents wouldn’t approve of their only son dressed as a pirate (“Too common, my dear,” his mother would sniff. “We’re better than coarse thieves.”), but something about their rich, extravagant and wild lifestyle had always intrigued Draco – with emphasis on the rich part.
“I think I’ll go wander outside,” Draco announced to thin air. He sauntered towards the doorway and out into the gardens, away from the dreadful music.
The only sound that could be heard there was the splashing of the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Wondering if this fountain was normally there or if Granger had created it too, Draco walked around it.
And came face to face with – well, he didn’t know who she was. He prided himself on his knowledge of Hogwarts girls. He knew all of the Slytherin girls and most of the Ravenclaws, as well as any of the Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors worth noticing – and quite a few of them not worth noticing too – but she certainly wasn’t any of them. He couldn’t really tell what color her hair was and her eyes were hidden behind a mask, but there was something intriguing about her all the same. She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, her white dress spread out around her.
“Oh!” she cried when she saw him.
“Enjoying the moonlight alone?” Draco queried. He sat down on the bench opposite her, wondering if the Malfoy charm would work even with a mask on.
“It was getting a bit stuffy in there,” she replied, turning her head to glance at the Great Hall. Draco could see browns, blonds and reds in her hair, but no sign of what her true hair color was.
“I don’t think I know you,” he said finally, because she seemed to be waiting for him to speak.
“Well, it is a masquerade ball, that’s the whole idea,” she retorted with a touch of sarcasm.
“Alright then, no names,” Draco smiled. The girl smiled back, but made no effort to start a conversation. He was studying her dress, wondering if she was another one of the many princesses at the ball, when he spotted the glass slippers on her feet.
“Cinderella!” he cried, without thinking. She gave him a surprised look.
“You know?” she asked. “So few witches and wizards do.”
“My mother used to read Muggle fairytales to me when I was little,” he explained, feeling more than a little ashamed as he admitted to it. It was a good thing she didn’t know who he was – imagine someone finding out that Malfoys read fairytales, and Muggle ones at that!
“Ah,” she smiled. “Her – my friend has a book, and I’ve always loved the story of Cinderella.”
“That was my favorite too,” Draco replied, surprising himself with his own words. He tried to tell himself that he was just saying what she wanted to hear, but he had always liked that one best.
“You’re a pirate,” she stated. Draco thought that, give his attire, that was evident.
“Always seemed like a good lifestyle,” he replied.
“Plundering and pillaging? Full of swashbuckling and treasure?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips.
“I’d be a rich pirate,” Draco smirked.
“The best kind,” she agreed, clearly trying to hide her laughter. “A poor pirate holds so little glamor.”
“Pity I get seasick so easily,” Draco said, instantly wondering why he has just said that. Why couldn’t he control what he was saying to this stranger?
“That might be a small problem,” she agreed mock-seriously. “It would take all the fun out of it if you were constantly sick.”
“Definitely not in my career path then,” Draco agreed. “What about you – waiting for your prince to come?”
“Huh!” she gave an unladylike snort. “As if. I think pirating sounds more fun than scrubbing floors until the right man shows up.”
“Yet you decided to be Cinderella?” Draco pointed out.
“Why do men always think that a woman can’t be independent and successful and still like looking pretty – or dreaming about Prince Charming turning up?” she asked rhetorically. “I can transform myself into Cinderella for the night, but in reality Prince Charming still won’t be here tomorrow. Cinderella would have been far better off throwing her broom in her stepmother’s face and leaving.”
Until she said that, Draco had been so sure that she wasn’t a Slytherin. Slytherins didn’t admit to having read Cinderella. Slytherin women were far more likely to dress up as the evil fairy from Sleeping Beauty.
Draco realized with a pang that he, Draco Malfoy, head of Slytherin, had just admitted to reading Cinderella.
“Not much for the fairy godmother to do, then,” he pointed out, ignoring the little part of him that was criticizing his most un-Malfoy-like behavior. What ever happened to a simple seduction?
“That’s what I need,” the girl said, brightening. “A fairy godmother!”
“Or a genie in a magic lamp,” Draco agreed, betraying his level of knowledge of fairytales once again.
“I prefer the fairy godmother – unlimited amount of wishes, no restrictions,” she replied, voicing yet another Slytherin point of view that made Draco wonder. She smiled at him. “What would you wish for?”
The question took him by surprise. What would he ask for? In a much more Malfoy-like manner, he instantly dismissed anything that didn’t directly benefit him. But other than unlimited wealth, more mindless slaves, the extinction of all creatures like Potter, Weasley and Granger, what did he want?
She was watching him curiously, so Draco decided to change the subject. “What would you wish for?”
“To be someone else – someone visible,” she replied, with a trace of bitterness. “People never see me. They think they know me, but they really don’t.”
It was an interesting wish – and one that made Draco uncomfortably empathetic.
“But that’s what we are tonight,” he pointed out. “Different people.”
“But still invisible.” Her eyes met his and she smiled ruefully. “So you’re no pirate and I’m no Cinderella. How many other people do you think chose a costume tonight in order to pretend to be something they’re definitely not?”
“Judging by the quidditch team of appalling players, I’d say quite a few,” Draco replied.
“Are you the expert on quidditch prowess now?” she queried.
“I happen to be quite good, thank you,” Draco retorted, stung. When she only laughed, he relaxed slightly. “Well, anyone wearing a Chudley Cannons uniform obviously knows nothing about quidditch.”
Soon they were locked in an impassioned quidditch discussion. Draco was surprised at how much she knew about quidditch. He couldn’t remember having a conversation about quidditch with any of the girls he’d dated – or one about fairytales, pirates and fairy godmothers either.
Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember ever having an interesting conversation with any girl. Who was she?
Ginny had gone outside to find some solitude where Ron couldn’t find her and throw her at Harry. Instead she’d found an elegantly dressed pirate, wearing all black except for the red velvet cape. His mask had a patch across one eye and a pirate’s hat complete with skull-and-crossbones sat askew on his head. The sword that hung at his waist and the hook for a hand completed the outfit.
And not only did he look like he’d just stepped out a book, he had read – and enjoyed – Cinderella and could argue quite passionately, but fairly, about quidditch. So many boys just wanted to talk about their views of quidditch and treat her like a silly girl who didn’t know anything – if they wanted to talk at all.
This stranger was leaning across the fountain, drawing pictures in the air with his hook and eagerly explaining the fault and strengths of the Holyhead Harpies, a team that most boys dismissed.
Ginny didn’t know when she’d been happier. In fact, she was so eagerly inspecting him she didn’t notice he’d stopped talking and was pulling the end of his cape out of the fountain, where it seemed to have fallen.
“Damn fountain, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t here yesterday,” he muttered, drying his cape with a flick of his wand.
“So why did you come out here?” Ginny asked, desperate to say something. The minute she did she felt like eating her words again – could she sound any ruder?
He didn’t seem bothered by it. “The obnoxious music and intolerable chattering was getting on my nerves,” he replied, with a trace of arrogance. “I thought I’d try to find some more sophisticated company.” With a slow smile, he added, “And here you are.”
Ginny hadn’t grown up with six brothers and endured three boyfriends to be unable to distinguish outrageous flirting when she saw it. Normally she had a sharp remark for whoever tried such worthless lines on her.
This time she blushed.
“Why are you hiding out here?” he continued.
“I didn’t want my brother to see me,” she admitted. “I doubt he’d recognize me, but he can be pretty persistent and he keep trying to set me up with Har - his friend.”
“Are you going to throw a broom in his face?” he asked. Ginny laughed at the thought, though she knew that for all her view of what Cinderella should have told her family, Ginny could never do it herself.
“That’s easier said than done, isn’t it?” she replied, hoping he didn’t think her dreadfully hypocritical.
“Very,” he agreed with a smile. “I’ll throw it in his face for you, if you want.”
“I might just take you up on that,” she laughed, enjoying the mental picture.
“Hungry?” he asked abruptly. “I hear the food’s good.”
“Really?” Ginny asked, hiding her elation over the praise of her addition to the ball.
“You can’t go wrong with dilled gravlax,” he smiled.
“I’ve never had it,” Ginny replied, awkwardly. She was sure that this mysterious stranger had tasted and experienced many of the exotic things she had only read about.
“Perhaps we should venture inside and find some,” he suggested. Ginny glanced towards the Great Hall, where she saw Ron arguing with Hermione, over something petty no doubt.
“Uh,” Ginny ransacked her brain for a decent excuse. “Maybe -.”
“Oh, you’re hiding from your brother,” he nodded. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure you taste it some other time, then.”
The idea of meeting him again thrilled Ginny. Then again, maybe this was all just a dream, some farfetched fairytale. Or maybe he would be extremely dull out of costume.
Ginny really couldn’t imagine this man as dull, even if he didn’t look always like a pirate. Though the realization that she didn’t know who he was, but would probably recognize him on a normal day, had crossed her mind, she preferred to think of him as someone new and exciting whom she had never seen before.
“I’ll remind you of that,” she retorted with a smile.
He moved closer to her, still smiling that smile which made Ginny feel very nervous - in a very good way.
Ginny turned around so she was facing him and let her glass slippers fall to the ground. Dangling her feet in the water, she wondered why she couldn’t think of anything to say. Earlier she’d certainly had enough to say – about Cinderella, and her one wish, and quidditch.
She was so busy thinking about what to do next, she didn’t realize what he was doing until he was kissing her.
Ginny had been kissed before, plenty of times. But all of those kisses had been a bit of a disappointment. For all her feminist outlook on life, Ginny was a romantic at heart. She’d always dreamed of some handsome, elegant man kissing her under the stars. And the kisses of her dreams were always electrifyingly sweet and breathtakingly perfect.
Which was exactly how she felt now.
When he pulled away, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “You never answered my question – about your wish.”
“I just did,” he replied, before kissing her again.
Ginny knew it was unbelievably corny and normally she would have laughed at anyone who thought she would fall for that. But right then she didn’t care.
Considering her transformation from rags to riches, her meeting with him and the way the entire night had played out like a fairytale, in hindsight she realized it was fitting that it should end at midnight.
At the time, however, she didn’t think it fitting at all.
The chiming clock caused Ginny to remember Hermione warning her earlier to meet her in the Great Hall for clean-up at midnight. The memory of Hermione’s tone and her knowledge of her irrepressible friend forced Ginny back to reality.
“I-I have to go.” She spluttered, jumping to her feet. In a moment Hermione – and maybe even Ron or Harry - would turn up to drag her back to the Hall and everything would be ruined. In her frantic mind she envisioned her dress turning back into her old dress robes and her prince – er, pirate – laughing at the thought of having mistaken Ginny Weasley for someone else.
She ran into the Hall, where people were slowly drifting away, and found Hermione organizing a massive clean up of the food-strewn hall. Ginny made her presence know to Hermione, and after enduring various remarks about her costume and her whereabouts that evening – ranging from Hermione’s abstractly irritable remarks to Ron’s accusatory ones – she managed to escape without a job to do.
It was only when she arrived in Gryffindor Tower that she realized she had never discovered his real identity.
And that she’d left her glass slippers behind.
A/N: It took many drafts to come up with suitable costumes and conversations for Draco and Ginny. Cinderella was a pretty easy choice, and I thought Draco would make a good pirate, but I hope that their conversation is in character enough. And I have absolutely no idea what dilled gravlax actually is, but it sounded interesting. J
Thanks for all the reviews!
Butterbeer
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Dilled Gravlax with Mustard Sauce
Foie Gras and Cream Eggs
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Veal Chops with Rosemary Butter
Pancetta Green Beans
Lemon-Barley Pilaf
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Chocolate-Amaretti Tortes
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