A/N: This was undoubtedly the hardest chapter to write. Keeping Draco and Ginny in character here…well, tell me if I succeeded.
Chapter 3: Who can name the face?
“I really do think it was a great success,” Hermione smiled brightly as she neatly cut up her pancakes. “Everyone seemed to enjoy his or herself and I’m sure it made a great impact on house relationships.”
The day following the ball Hermione seemed to have forgotten all the mishaps that went into arranging the ball, and the fact that no one really bothered to stay in costume and was proudly telling anyone who would listen all about it.
“That’s not what you said last night,” Ron said tactlessly. “You were complaining about how everybody had taken their masks off and no one had helped you at all -.”
“Well, now I think it went very well,” Hermione interrupted peevishly. “I was only annoyed last night because you and Harry wouldn’t help me with anything and…”
Ginny blocked out the rest of Hermione and Ron’s bickering. Ever since her arrival at breakfast all she had heard was a run down of the details from the masquerade ball. She’d pretended to know what Hermione was talking about and, luckily, no one had said anything about her activities at the ball. This was just as well, because Ginny didn’t feel like explaining to her brother that she’d met a masked pirate who could well be the prince charming about whom she’d always dreamed.
“Ginny’s costume was beautiful,” Hermione said, interrupting Ginny’s thoughts. “I’d love to know how you cast that glamour.”
“Where were you last night, Ginny?” Ron asked accusatorily, reminded of his sister’s existence by Hermione.
Just my luck, she thought with an inner sigh. She didn’t think the excuse she’d used last night – “oh, around” – would work now.
“Well, it’s hard to mingle at a ball when you don’t want to announce who you really are,” Ginny replied. “So I was outside for awhile.”
“Alone?” Ron said sharply.
“Of course,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Like I said, I couldn’t talk to anyone because I was trying to keep my disguise a secret.”
“I’m so glad you listened to what I said,” Hermione murmured. “But we would have loved to see you.”
Ginny was saved from any further explanation by the arrival of the post – and what a post it was! Although the main post day was always Saturday, there had never been anything like this. Owls swooped down to ever girl’s seat and delivered a scrap of parchment to each of them. Giggles and chatter erupted as the Hogwarts girls read their letters.
“Oh my!” Hermione exclaimed. “What is this?”
Ginny opened hers, her eyes widening as she read it:
If Cinderella wishes to reclaim the fragile item she left behind last night, she should return to the place from where it came tonight at the hour when this item should return to dust.
No wonder everyone was exclaiming over the mysterious bit of parchment. Ginny felt herself blush and hoped no one would notice her embarrassment and excitement. He was trying to contact her!
And he had her glass slippers, which was definitely a good thing. She’d transfigured her only pair of shoes into glass slippers, so this morning she’d had to transfigure her slippers into shoes. She knew they wouldn’t remain shoes for too long, and it was too much trouble to be constantly transfiguring her shoes and slippers back and forth, but Ginny couldn’t afford a new pair.
She just hoped no one would understand the letter.
“What!” Ron exclaimed, reading over Hermione’s shoulder. “Who sent this? Who’s Cinderella?”
“Well, if the sender knew who to send it to, Ron, we wouldn’t all be reading it,” Hermione replied sharply. “It appears someone – two someones – kept their identities a secret last night.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco watched with well-concealed satisfaction as all the girls in the room began to whisper and giggle over the letter. He’d stayed up early into the morning planning what to say and how to get it to her. It irked him that she’d run away last night. They’d been having such a good conversation, and then, after he kissed her – and, he admitted, used a very corny line – she’d just run off. Just like Cinderella – except he didn’t think she was the type to follow the story so perfectly.
Accident or not, she’d left her slippers there and he figured she’d want her them back.
If his real reason for wanting to meet her again was different, he wasn’t going to admit to it.
“What is this?” Pansy cried. “Who’s Cinderella?”
“If you don’t understand it, ignore it,” Draco drawled. “It has nothing to do with us, Pansy.”
“Of course.” Pansy put the letter down, barely concealing her curiosity. But there were more pressing things on her mind. “Where were you last night, Draco?”
“I didn’t go,” Draco replied. “Was it very juvenile and boring?”
Pansy smiled, fluttering her eyelashes in a way she thought everyone found attractive. “It wouldn’t have been if you’d been there.”
Draco managed a smirk in her direction, before returning to his perusal of the room. She was there, somewhere, in the mass of chattering girls. Draco didn’t know if it was curiosity, a need to satisfy his ego, or something entirely different that prompted this drastic act. Normally he didn’t have to chase after a girl, but he wouldn’t leave things like this - no one ran away from a Malfoy like that!
Leaving the Great Hall, he prepared for a busy Saturday. He had a lot of homework to catch up on, and now was as good a time as any to do it; plus, he’d scheduled an extra quidditch practice. He needed something to stop him from thinking about midnight.
Turning a corner he spotted the Golden Trio, whispering about something.
“Keeping secrets, are we?” Draco drawled. “Naughty, naughty.”
“Get lost, Malfoy,” Weasley snarled.
“That feeling of inter-house cooperation fizzling?” Draco queried with a smirk. “Pity; I do so love warm, fuzzy emotions like that.”
“Considering how much you helped with ball – and how you didn’t even bother to show up – we wouldn’t know,” Granger retorted, her hand restraining a growling Weasley.
He really didn’t feel like fencing with the Gryffindors today, though - not that these three required much effort to annoy. Before Potter could try to be brave and noble and offer to beat him up, Draco walked off.
“Oh, Granger,” he called back after he’d walked a few steps. “You shouldn’t wear yellow – it’s terrible with your complexion.”
Smirking as he heard their angry yelps, Draco sauntered away, his thoughts focusing on the previous night.
Not that he, a Malfoy, was actually thinking about her.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Ginny barely managed to concentrate on anything that day; she was so focused on that night. As she did her homework, practiced quidditch, and listened to Luna babble about something, she couldn’t stop the feelings of apprehension and excitement. Even Luna seemed to notice that Ginny’s head was in the clouds; Ron certainly did, demanding to know why her flying was less than spectacular. Ginny couldn’t give either of them a reason.
Finally the night arrived. Once all her roommates were asleep Ginny snuck out of her dormitory. Luckily the prefect’s bathroom was deserted – Ginny didn’t want to explain to anyone why she was putting on normal clothes and fixing her hair at midnight. None of her efforts could make her look beautiful, especially so late at night, so Ginny gave up and set off for the Great Hall, hoping she didn’t run into Mrs. Norris.
The courtyard was devoid of a fountain tonight, so Ginny sat down on a bench to wait. A few moments later she was up and pacing around the courtyard. Where was he? Was he planning on coming at all?
She heard footsteps, which threw Ginny into a flurry of emotions. Was it he? For that matter, who was he? Or maybe it was someone else, a teacher or prefect? Quickly she hid behind a bush, her pulse racing. Ginny didn’t ever remember being so nervous.
When she saw to whom the footsteps belonged, she sighed inaudibly. The figure was dressed all in black, but Ginny could see his hair in the moonlight - Draco Malfoy.
How dare he interrupt my evening? Ginny thought angrily. She wished he’d hurry up and leave so her pirate could arrive. After a few moments of crouching there her legs began too hurt, so she was happy when he turned, as if he to leave.
Then she saw the glass slippers in his hand.
Without thinking, she gasped loudly and fell over the bush in her attempt to get away. No, no, this is not happening.
“Weasley?” Malfoy sneered. “What are you doing here? Are you so used to sleeping on the floor in the cold that you had to come out here?”
“You?” Ginny gasped, waving her hand at the slippers. All his taunts and sneers over the past few years filtered through her mind. It was impossible that Malfoy was her pirate.
Understanding seemed to dawn, and for the first time Ginny saw real emotion of Malfoy’s face. Then he quickly concealed his astonishment behind his usual facade of contempt and scorn.
“Weasley?” he repeated. “Ah, Cinderella, how appropriate. She had to sleep on the floor too.”
“As you would know,” Ginny retorted, standing up, “considering how it was your favorite fairytale. And here I thought the Malfoys just tortured their children.”
Well, she wasn’t going to let him walk all over her like normal, now was she?
“We’re not all like my father,” he snapped.
“A pirate; stealing from others for personal wealth,” Ginny continued musingly. “How like a Malfoy.”
“Rich pirates were glamorous enough for you last night,” Malfoy sneered. “Remember?”
“I remember that you get sea sick easily,” Ginny retorted, knowing it was weak. She was pleased to see that he winced slightly as her mind raced through her own confessions.
“And the poor little Weaselette wants someone to notice her,” Malfoy smirked. “Potter perhaps? Or is that who you were hiding from last night?”
“Yes, if you must know,” Ginny spat. “You’re not the only one that gets sick of them.”
“I’d like to see you throw a broom in Weasel’s face,” Malfoy muttered. “That would make people notice you.”
“It has crossed my mind,” Ginny replied, forgetting for a moment to whom she was talking. Then there was a silence as they both remembered why they were there.
“You said you liked the food,” Ginny mused aloud. “But the other day…”
“It was a good menu, Weasley,” Malfoy snapped. “Happy?”
“No,” Ginny scowled. “Why did you want to find me?”
“For the same reason you came,” Malfoy retorted.
“I came to get my slippers back,” Ginny snapped, head held high. “No other reason.” She didn’t know if that was directed at Malfoy or at herself. Maybe if she lied enough she could convince ever herself that she’d never even liked him last night.
“Of course not,” Malfoy sneered. There was a long silence, while Ginny searched for a comeback.
His voice broke the silence. “Why did you run away?”
So that was why. “Ego hurt?” she snapped. “Maybe I found your flirting too corny and ridiculous.”
“You obviously didn’t last night,” Malfoy smirked. “You thought I was your Prince Charming. You thought you were in love. You thought -.”
“As if,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Then she realized that she’d actually kissed Malfoy the night before. What would Ron think? her mind hissed.
Why should I care what Ron thinks? another part of her mind retorted. I can do whatever I want.
Shaking her head, she responded to his last comment. “My Prince Charming wouldn’t be like you at all. He wouldn’t make fun of my family or my poverty or find every opportunity to laugh at me.”
“I was talking about me last night,” Malfoy replied. Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but she realized she didn’t know what to say. Last night he had no been Malfoy, that was true, but it didn’t change how he treated her normally.
“Last night!” Ginny cried finally. “You were just flirting with me because you thought I was the only girl whom you hadn’t already seduced or tortured.”
“So?” he replied. “At least I noticed you.”
“No, you didn’t.” Ginny felt her face turning red, though whether it was with anger or embarrassment she didn’t know. “You noticed a glamorous girl who looked pretty with all the charms and fancy clothes – that’s not me, just like you’re not a pirate who likes fairytales and quidditch. It was a dream.”
She felt like crying, though she didn’t know why. I am not this upset over a stupid dream not come true, she told herself. And I will not cry in front of Malfoy.
She caught him off guard as she grabbed the shoes from his hand.
“Thank you,” she said coldly. “I’ll be going now.”
Head held high she marched off, determined to be far away from Malfoy before she started crying.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco stared after her retreating form with annoyance. After the shock of discovering that Cinderella was the Weaselette and ensuing battle of words, it was odd that the one thing that stood out in his mind was the fact the she had never answered his question. Why did he care? Sure, that was the reason he’d sent the messages and wandered out in the cold in the middle of the night in the first place, but it wasn’t like he cared about Weasley’s thoughts. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her voice or – or whatever else he should have recognized.
The thing was, before last night he’d always thought of her as the Golden Trio’s adoring shadow; a quiet, invisible girl who he could mock in order to annoy her brother and Potter. He didn’t know that they annoyed her too, or that she knew Muggle fairytales, or that she knew so much about quidditch, or that she could be quite so sarcastic and volatile when she wanted to be. It was odd how much you could learn about one person in just a few hours.
It was even odder that he, a Malfoy, was finding the girl he had once dismissed as the head of Potter’s fan club far more intriguing than she should have been.
Well, he had to give her credit for not letting him get the best of her just now. He didn’t really know who had won the argument, but he didn’t think it was him.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Sundays were always boring, but this one especially so; no quidditch practice, no homework, nothing to think about.
Draco wandered outside, not quite sure what he was doing. The whole catastrophe with the littlest Weasel was over – he’d made a fool of himself, she’d made a fool of herself, and that was that. He could go find some other girl now, or create scathing remarks to throw at the Gryffindors.
Instead he, Draco Malfoy, was wondering why she, a Weasley, had run away from him.
His father would definitely be cursing him from Azkaban.
He realized that he had wandered towards the quidditch pitch where the Gryffindor team was just ending practice. Potter and Weasley were discussing something while the rest of the team headed towards the changing rooms.
And the girls’ changing room was behind him.
Draco considered walking in the other direction. He contemplated thinking up something harsh to say and then walking away. He thought about ignoring her existence altogether and hoping she did the same to him.
But he didn’t do any of that.
“Weasley,” he said as she passed. She stopped and slowly turned towards him.
“Malfoy,” she said just as coldly.
“You never answered my question,” he said dumbly.
“You never answered mine,” she replied. She must have noticed his blank face, for she elaborated, “What would your one wish be? Well, you did answer, but that was corny and not even true the other night.”
“To be noticed as someone other than a Malfoy,” Draco said automatically. If it were possible he would have turned around and stared at his own mouth incredulously. Had he really just said that?
Weasley looked surprised too.
“Being a Malfoy is so hard for you?” she snapped.
“It is when people think I steal from others for personal wealth or that my parents torture their children or that I torture people for fun. Well,” he amended, “I do, I supposed, but tell me you don’t enjoy verbally torturing your brother.”
“It can be amusing,” she said hesitantly, as though it pained her to agree with him.
“So maybe I am a bit of a pirate – but at least I’m a pirate who likes fairytales and quidditch,” he said, quoting her words from last night.
She laughed, which made Draco smile for some strange reason. He didn’t normally make people laugh.
She stopped laughing and looked at him seriously. “I left because I thought Hermione, Ron and Harry were going to come looking for me, and I didn’t want you to realize who I was.”
“Really?” Draco stared, realizing what a simple reason it had been. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she nodded. Then she smiled slightly and asked, “You don’t really like fairytales, do you?”
“I used to,” Draco replied. “But don’t let that get around – it would ruin my reputation.”
“And we can’t have that,” she agreed with a smile. “I thought you wanted to break away from the Malfoy mold?”
“I thought you wanted to throw a broom in your brother’s face?” he retorted.
She glanced at the one in her hand and laughed again. “Touché.”
“I think I promised you dilled gravlax, didn’t I?” Draco said, wondering what he was doing. He was mad, that was it. Ginny – Weasley – whatever she was called – was driving him crazy. One minute she was screaming at him and the next she was laughing and then she was making sarcastic retorts again.
Draco Malfoy was never one to avoid a challenge.
And think of Weasel and Potter’s reactions, he told himself. Yes, that was why he was doing this.
Draco realized that he lied to himself a lot.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Ginny had spent all night and day silently fuming at Draco Malfoy. How dare he be so sweet in a flirtatious, debonair way, so amusing in a sarcastic way, and able to argue with her? How dare he be so perfect when he was anything but? How dare he confuse her like this?
And then he turned up, showing her once again that there was another side to Draco Malfoy; a side she had never seen before.
He’s mean to your brother and his friends, part of her insisted.
Somebody needs to be, she retorted. And it’s not like I’m any nicer.
He’s mean to you, the sensible part of her replied.
And I’m just as mean back, the other far more annoying part of her explained.
Your family would be furious, her reasonable self insisted.
So? Ginny told herself.
Malfoy, of all people, was standing in front of her telling her how much he disliked being thought of just as a Malfoy, instead of as just himself. She realized how much they had in common, how similar they were; well, she’d realized that after last night.
He’d wanted to see her again after the ball; and here he was now, even after she’d been so rude to him last night – not that he hadn’t deserved it. In some strange way he was noticing her as someone other than the youngest Weasley and he was trying to tell her that.
“I think I promised you dilled gravlax, didn’t I?” his voice brought Ginny out of her trance.
“Yes, you did.” She couldn’t help adding, “Because my menu was so good.”
“Yes, it was,” Draco – Malfoy – whatever his name was - admitted grudgingly. “But I can find you something even better to eat.”
“Oh really?” she said skeptically, wondering where this was leading.
“Let me show you,” he continued. “Next weekend’s a Hogsmead weekend – I’ll take you out to dinner.”
He was asking her out? Ginny didn’t know quite what to say.
“That would be a way to throw a broom in my brother’s face,” she mused aloud.
“I’m just trying to break away from the Malfoy mold,” he insisted, but Ginny knew an attempt at convincing one’s self of something when she saw it.
“Well, then,” she agreed with a smile. “It’s a date.”
~*~The End~*~
A/N: And that’s it. I know I could continue from there (and you never know, I might), but I really wanted to focus on the masquerade ball, not the aftermath so much. Thanks for all the reviews!
Chapter 3: Who can name the face?
“I really do think it was a great success,” Hermione smiled brightly as she neatly cut up her pancakes. “Everyone seemed to enjoy his or herself and I’m sure it made a great impact on house relationships.”
The day following the ball Hermione seemed to have forgotten all the mishaps that went into arranging the ball, and the fact that no one really bothered to stay in costume and was proudly telling anyone who would listen all about it.
“That’s not what you said last night,” Ron said tactlessly. “You were complaining about how everybody had taken their masks off and no one had helped you at all -.”
“Well, now I think it went very well,” Hermione interrupted peevishly. “I was only annoyed last night because you and Harry wouldn’t help me with anything and…”
Ginny blocked out the rest of Hermione and Ron’s bickering. Ever since her arrival at breakfast all she had heard was a run down of the details from the masquerade ball. She’d pretended to know what Hermione was talking about and, luckily, no one had said anything about her activities at the ball. This was just as well, because Ginny didn’t feel like explaining to her brother that she’d met a masked pirate who could well be the prince charming about whom she’d always dreamed.
“Ginny’s costume was beautiful,” Hermione said, interrupting Ginny’s thoughts. “I’d love to know how you cast that glamour.”
“Where were you last night, Ginny?” Ron asked accusatorily, reminded of his sister’s existence by Hermione.
Just my luck, she thought with an inner sigh. She didn’t think the excuse she’d used last night – “oh, around” – would work now.
“Well, it’s hard to mingle at a ball when you don’t want to announce who you really are,” Ginny replied. “So I was outside for awhile.”
“Alone?” Ron said sharply.
“Of course,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Like I said, I couldn’t talk to anyone because I was trying to keep my disguise a secret.”
“I’m so glad you listened to what I said,” Hermione murmured. “But we would have loved to see you.”
Ginny was saved from any further explanation by the arrival of the post – and what a post it was! Although the main post day was always Saturday, there had never been anything like this. Owls swooped down to ever girl’s seat and delivered a scrap of parchment to each of them. Giggles and chatter erupted as the Hogwarts girls read their letters.
“Oh my!” Hermione exclaimed. “What is this?”
Ginny opened hers, her eyes widening as she read it:
If Cinderella wishes to reclaim the fragile item she left behind last night, she should return to the place from where it came tonight at the hour when this item should return to dust.
No wonder everyone was exclaiming over the mysterious bit of parchment. Ginny felt herself blush and hoped no one would notice her embarrassment and excitement. He was trying to contact her!
And he had her glass slippers, which was definitely a good thing. She’d transfigured her only pair of shoes into glass slippers, so this morning she’d had to transfigure her slippers into shoes. She knew they wouldn’t remain shoes for too long, and it was too much trouble to be constantly transfiguring her shoes and slippers back and forth, but Ginny couldn’t afford a new pair.
She just hoped no one would understand the letter.
“What!” Ron exclaimed, reading over Hermione’s shoulder. “Who sent this? Who’s Cinderella?”
“Well, if the sender knew who to send it to, Ron, we wouldn’t all be reading it,” Hermione replied sharply. “It appears someone – two someones – kept their identities a secret last night.”
Draco watched with well-concealed satisfaction as all the girls in the room began to whisper and giggle over the letter. He’d stayed up early into the morning planning what to say and how to get it to her. It irked him that she’d run away last night. They’d been having such a good conversation, and then, after he kissed her – and, he admitted, used a very corny line – she’d just run off. Just like Cinderella – except he didn’t think she was the type to follow the story so perfectly.
Accident or not, she’d left her slippers there and he figured she’d want her them back.
If his real reason for wanting to meet her again was different, he wasn’t going to admit to it.
“What is this?” Pansy cried. “Who’s Cinderella?”
“If you don’t understand it, ignore it,” Draco drawled. “It has nothing to do with us, Pansy.”
“Of course.” Pansy put the letter down, barely concealing her curiosity. But there were more pressing things on her mind. “Where were you last night, Draco?”
“I didn’t go,” Draco replied. “Was it very juvenile and boring?”
Pansy smiled, fluttering her eyelashes in a way she thought everyone found attractive. “It wouldn’t have been if you’d been there.”
Draco managed a smirk in her direction, before returning to his perusal of the room. She was there, somewhere, in the mass of chattering girls. Draco didn’t know if it was curiosity, a need to satisfy his ego, or something entirely different that prompted this drastic act. Normally he didn’t have to chase after a girl, but he wouldn’t leave things like this - no one ran away from a Malfoy like that!
Leaving the Great Hall, he prepared for a busy Saturday. He had a lot of homework to catch up on, and now was as good a time as any to do it; plus, he’d scheduled an extra quidditch practice. He needed something to stop him from thinking about midnight.
Turning a corner he spotted the Golden Trio, whispering about something.
“Keeping secrets, are we?” Draco drawled. “Naughty, naughty.”
“Get lost, Malfoy,” Weasley snarled.
“That feeling of inter-house cooperation fizzling?” Draco queried with a smirk. “Pity; I do so love warm, fuzzy emotions like that.”
“Considering how much you helped with ball – and how you didn’t even bother to show up – we wouldn’t know,” Granger retorted, her hand restraining a growling Weasley.
He really didn’t feel like fencing with the Gryffindors today, though - not that these three required much effort to annoy. Before Potter could try to be brave and noble and offer to beat him up, Draco walked off.
“Oh, Granger,” he called back after he’d walked a few steps. “You shouldn’t wear yellow – it’s terrible with your complexion.”
Smirking as he heard their angry yelps, Draco sauntered away, his thoughts focusing on the previous night.
Not that he, a Malfoy, was actually thinking about her.
Ginny barely managed to concentrate on anything that day; she was so focused on that night. As she did her homework, practiced quidditch, and listened to Luna babble about something, she couldn’t stop the feelings of apprehension and excitement. Even Luna seemed to notice that Ginny’s head was in the clouds; Ron certainly did, demanding to know why her flying was less than spectacular. Ginny couldn’t give either of them a reason.
Finally the night arrived. Once all her roommates were asleep Ginny snuck out of her dormitory. Luckily the prefect’s bathroom was deserted – Ginny didn’t want to explain to anyone why she was putting on normal clothes and fixing her hair at midnight. None of her efforts could make her look beautiful, especially so late at night, so Ginny gave up and set off for the Great Hall, hoping she didn’t run into Mrs. Norris.
The courtyard was devoid of a fountain tonight, so Ginny sat down on a bench to wait. A few moments later she was up and pacing around the courtyard. Where was he? Was he planning on coming at all?
She heard footsteps, which threw Ginny into a flurry of emotions. Was it he? For that matter, who was he? Or maybe it was someone else, a teacher or prefect? Quickly she hid behind a bush, her pulse racing. Ginny didn’t ever remember being so nervous.
When she saw to whom the footsteps belonged, she sighed inaudibly. The figure was dressed all in black, but Ginny could see his hair in the moonlight - Draco Malfoy.
How dare he interrupt my evening? Ginny thought angrily. She wished he’d hurry up and leave so her pirate could arrive. After a few moments of crouching there her legs began too hurt, so she was happy when he turned, as if he to leave.
Then she saw the glass slippers in his hand.
Without thinking, she gasped loudly and fell over the bush in her attempt to get away. No, no, this is not happening.
“Weasley?” Malfoy sneered. “What are you doing here? Are you so used to sleeping on the floor in the cold that you had to come out here?”
“You?” Ginny gasped, waving her hand at the slippers. All his taunts and sneers over the past few years filtered through her mind. It was impossible that Malfoy was her pirate.
Understanding seemed to dawn, and for the first time Ginny saw real emotion of Malfoy’s face. Then he quickly concealed his astonishment behind his usual facade of contempt and scorn.
“Weasley?” he repeated. “Ah, Cinderella, how appropriate. She had to sleep on the floor too.”
“As you would know,” Ginny retorted, standing up, “considering how it was your favorite fairytale. And here I thought the Malfoys just tortured their children.”
Well, she wasn’t going to let him walk all over her like normal, now was she?
“We’re not all like my father,” he snapped.
“A pirate; stealing from others for personal wealth,” Ginny continued musingly. “How like a Malfoy.”
“Rich pirates were glamorous enough for you last night,” Malfoy sneered. “Remember?”
“I remember that you get sea sick easily,” Ginny retorted, knowing it was weak. She was pleased to see that he winced slightly as her mind raced through her own confessions.
“And the poor little Weaselette wants someone to notice her,” Malfoy smirked. “Potter perhaps? Or is that who you were hiding from last night?”
“Yes, if you must know,” Ginny spat. “You’re not the only one that gets sick of them.”
“I’d like to see you throw a broom in Weasel’s face,” Malfoy muttered. “That would make people notice you.”
“It has crossed my mind,” Ginny replied, forgetting for a moment to whom she was talking. Then there was a silence as they both remembered why they were there.
“You said you liked the food,” Ginny mused aloud. “But the other day…”
“It was a good menu, Weasley,” Malfoy snapped. “Happy?”
“No,” Ginny scowled. “Why did you want to find me?”
“For the same reason you came,” Malfoy retorted.
“I came to get my slippers back,” Ginny snapped, head held high. “No other reason.” She didn’t know if that was directed at Malfoy or at herself. Maybe if she lied enough she could convince ever herself that she’d never even liked him last night.
“Of course not,” Malfoy sneered. There was a long silence, while Ginny searched for a comeback.
His voice broke the silence. “Why did you run away?”
So that was why. “Ego hurt?” she snapped. “Maybe I found your flirting too corny and ridiculous.”
“You obviously didn’t last night,” Malfoy smirked. “You thought I was your Prince Charming. You thought you were in love. You thought -.”
“As if,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Then she realized that she’d actually kissed Malfoy the night before. What would Ron think? her mind hissed.
Why should I care what Ron thinks? another part of her mind retorted. I can do whatever I want.
Shaking her head, she responded to his last comment. “My Prince Charming wouldn’t be like you at all. He wouldn’t make fun of my family or my poverty or find every opportunity to laugh at me.”
“I was talking about me last night,” Malfoy replied. Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but she realized she didn’t know what to say. Last night he had no been Malfoy, that was true, but it didn’t change how he treated her normally.
“Last night!” Ginny cried finally. “You were just flirting with me because you thought I was the only girl whom you hadn’t already seduced or tortured.”
“So?” he replied. “At least I noticed you.”
“No, you didn’t.” Ginny felt her face turning red, though whether it was with anger or embarrassment she didn’t know. “You noticed a glamorous girl who looked pretty with all the charms and fancy clothes – that’s not me, just like you’re not a pirate who likes fairytales and quidditch. It was a dream.”
She felt like crying, though she didn’t know why. I am not this upset over a stupid dream not come true, she told herself. And I will not cry in front of Malfoy.
She caught him off guard as she grabbed the shoes from his hand.
“Thank you,” she said coldly. “I’ll be going now.”
Head held high she marched off, determined to be far away from Malfoy before she started crying.
Draco stared after her retreating form with annoyance. After the shock of discovering that Cinderella was the Weaselette and ensuing battle of words, it was odd that the one thing that stood out in his mind was the fact the she had never answered his question. Why did he care? Sure, that was the reason he’d sent the messages and wandered out in the cold in the middle of the night in the first place, but it wasn’t like he cared about Weasley’s thoughts. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her voice or – or whatever else he should have recognized.
The thing was, before last night he’d always thought of her as the Golden Trio’s adoring shadow; a quiet, invisible girl who he could mock in order to annoy her brother and Potter. He didn’t know that they annoyed her too, or that she knew Muggle fairytales, or that she knew so much about quidditch, or that she could be quite so sarcastic and volatile when she wanted to be. It was odd how much you could learn about one person in just a few hours.
It was even odder that he, a Malfoy, was finding the girl he had once dismissed as the head of Potter’s fan club far more intriguing than she should have been.
Well, he had to give her credit for not letting him get the best of her just now. He didn’t really know who had won the argument, but he didn’t think it was him.
Sundays were always boring, but this one especially so; no quidditch practice, no homework, nothing to think about.
Draco wandered outside, not quite sure what he was doing. The whole catastrophe with the littlest Weasel was over – he’d made a fool of himself, she’d made a fool of herself, and that was that. He could go find some other girl now, or create scathing remarks to throw at the Gryffindors.
Instead he, Draco Malfoy, was wondering why she, a Weasley, had run away from him.
His father would definitely be cursing him from Azkaban.
He realized that he had wandered towards the quidditch pitch where the Gryffindor team was just ending practice. Potter and Weasley were discussing something while the rest of the team headed towards the changing rooms.
And the girls’ changing room was behind him.
Draco considered walking in the other direction. He contemplated thinking up something harsh to say and then walking away. He thought about ignoring her existence altogether and hoping she did the same to him.
But he didn’t do any of that.
“Weasley,” he said as she passed. She stopped and slowly turned towards him.
“Malfoy,” she said just as coldly.
“You never answered my question,” he said dumbly.
“You never answered mine,” she replied. She must have noticed his blank face, for she elaborated, “What would your one wish be? Well, you did answer, but that was corny and not even true the other night.”
“To be noticed as someone other than a Malfoy,” Draco said automatically. If it were possible he would have turned around and stared at his own mouth incredulously. Had he really just said that?
Weasley looked surprised too.
“Being a Malfoy is so hard for you?” she snapped.
“It is when people think I steal from others for personal wealth or that my parents torture their children or that I torture people for fun. Well,” he amended, “I do, I supposed, but tell me you don’t enjoy verbally torturing your brother.”
“It can be amusing,” she said hesitantly, as though it pained her to agree with him.
“So maybe I am a bit of a pirate – but at least I’m a pirate who likes fairytales and quidditch,” he said, quoting her words from last night.
She laughed, which made Draco smile for some strange reason. He didn’t normally make people laugh.
She stopped laughing and looked at him seriously. “I left because I thought Hermione, Ron and Harry were going to come looking for me, and I didn’t want you to realize who I was.”
“Really?” Draco stared, realizing what a simple reason it had been. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she nodded. Then she smiled slightly and asked, “You don’t really like fairytales, do you?”
“I used to,” Draco replied. “But don’t let that get around – it would ruin my reputation.”
“And we can’t have that,” she agreed with a smile. “I thought you wanted to break away from the Malfoy mold?”
“I thought you wanted to throw a broom in your brother’s face?” he retorted.
She glanced at the one in her hand and laughed again. “Touché.”
“I think I promised you dilled gravlax, didn’t I?” Draco said, wondering what he was doing. He was mad, that was it. Ginny – Weasley – whatever she was called – was driving him crazy. One minute she was screaming at him and the next she was laughing and then she was making sarcastic retorts again.
Draco Malfoy was never one to avoid a challenge.
And think of Weasel and Potter’s reactions, he told himself. Yes, that was why he was doing this.
Draco realized that he lied to himself a lot.
Ginny had spent all night and day silently fuming at Draco Malfoy. How dare he be so sweet in a flirtatious, debonair way, so amusing in a sarcastic way, and able to argue with her? How dare he be so perfect when he was anything but? How dare he confuse her like this?
And then he turned up, showing her once again that there was another side to Draco Malfoy; a side she had never seen before.
He’s mean to your brother and his friends, part of her insisted.
Somebody needs to be, she retorted. And it’s not like I’m any nicer.
He’s mean to you, the sensible part of her replied.
And I’m just as mean back, the other far more annoying part of her explained.
Your family would be furious, her reasonable self insisted.
So? Ginny told herself.
Malfoy, of all people, was standing in front of her telling her how much he disliked being thought of just as a Malfoy, instead of as just himself. She realized how much they had in common, how similar they were; well, she’d realized that after last night.
He’d wanted to see her again after the ball; and here he was now, even after she’d been so rude to him last night – not that he hadn’t deserved it. In some strange way he was noticing her as someone other than the youngest Weasley and he was trying to tell her that.
“I think I promised you dilled gravlax, didn’t I?” his voice brought Ginny out of her trance.
“Yes, you did.” She couldn’t help adding, “Because my menu was so good.”
“Yes, it was,” Draco – Malfoy – whatever his name was - admitted grudgingly. “But I can find you something even better to eat.”
“Oh really?” she said skeptically, wondering where this was leading.
“Let me show you,” he continued. “Next weekend’s a Hogsmead weekend – I’ll take you out to dinner.”
He was asking her out? Ginny didn’t know quite what to say.
“That would be a way to throw a broom in my brother’s face,” she mused aloud.
“I’m just trying to break away from the Malfoy mold,” he insisted, but Ginny knew an attempt at convincing one’s self of something when she saw it.
“Well, then,” she agreed with a smile. “It’s a date.”
~*~The End~*~
A/N: And that’s it. I know I could continue from there (and you never know, I might), but I really wanted to focus on the masquerade ball, not the aftermath so much. Thanks for all the reviews!
The End.
Cinderellen88 is the author of 1 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 9 members. Members who liked Once Upon a Masquerade also liked 399 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 9 members. Members who liked Once Upon a Masquerade also liked 399 other stories.
Leave a Review