What a girl wants…
“It’s a simple question, Ginny, you don’t have to get so stroppy with me about it,” Hermione said sharply as she bustled about the empty restaurant Friday night after closing, her patience having snapped after the third time Ginny had answered a benign question with a sarcastic and biting remark.
“Sorry,” Ginny mumbled. She dropped the pile of receipts she was adding up and sighed, unable to concentrate.
“Considering your current dilemma, I’ll forgive you this time, but the state of your various romances is hardly a good reason to snap at a friend,” Hermione sniffed disapprovingly, with a sly look at Ginny, who had buried her face in her hands as she groaned.
“Various romances?” she groaned. “Hermione, don’t tease. Besides, I don’t have ANY romances, let alone various.”
“Oh, come now. What about Malfoy? Wasn’t it just a week ago he was confessing his undying love to you?”
“Considering his brain had just been scrambled by a few powerful doses of the Cruciatus Curse, I’ve decided to just write that confession off as a moment pure insanity. Unfortunately, he has failed to see it that way, what with his firm belief that he actually meant what he said,” Ginny said despairingly. Hermione tried valiantly to hold back her laughter at her friend’s expense, but she just couldn’t help it.
“Oh, Ginny, one day, you are going to look back and recognize the dramatic irony in this situation,” Hermione said bemusedly.
“And what irony is that?” Ginny demanded grumpily, tossing down the receipts in frustration as she lost count again.
“You have a hopelessly romantic soul, Ginny Weasley, and would probably have dropped all protestations and doubts about such ill-fated proclamations of love if they were coming from anyone other than Draco Malfoy. Particularly given the circumstances and past events that all conspired to lead up to said proclamation,” Hermione said, her voice taking on that particular authoritative quality it always got when she was giving a lecture or reciting a list of facts that proved a particular argument she had been trying to make. “But, of course, because it is Draco Malfoy, you can’t even recognize him for what he is.”
“And what is that?” Ginny sneered, feeling decidedly agitated that her best friend, the one person she could discuss the highly controversial topic of Draco Malfoy with, was, in fact, not playing the sympathetic role she’d envisioned that afternoon. Hermione wasn’t supposed to contribute to the confusing turmoil that seemed to shroud her life whenever the subject of Malfoy was brought up.
“Well, obviously your romantic ideal. Now, before you get all huffy and flounce out of here, vowing never to speak to me again or perhaps plotting some form of revenge and writing off to the twins for details on their latest practical joke, I still think you should stay as far away from him as possible. But it’s easy for me to see why you’re so mixed up about all this, and that’s because we’re talking about the boy who broke a hundred different rules when he healed your arm – I don’t care if he dismissed it and played it off as if they are rules he is exempt from because of who his father is, because that is complete bollocks and everyone knows that it’s really dangerous to break that set of rules. And then, after the horrid public display via spelled mistletoe that was your first kiss, he then proceeded to snog you in a moonlit fairy garden, waited for you all day in the cold when you almost stood him up for your date together – to which he demanded you attend in front of your entire school thus defying every social norm he’s grown up believing, tried to sneak you in to see your favorite Quidditch team and ended up getting the two of you locked in the tower for the night, and tried to keep you calm the entire time after learning about your fear of tight spaces.”
“Hermione, I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Ginny mumbled uncomfortably.
“I’m not quite finished yet. Then, of course, he raced off to your rescue after finding out that the psychotic Claire had kidnapped you and locked you in a closet, and let them curse him so that nothing would happen to you – all of this, after thinking that you’d slept with some random guy. And then he told you he loved you, and even after all that you’ve said to him, telling him to leave you alone and how you’ll never be his girlfriend, he’s still persisting. Ginny, this is the kind of tragic romantic hero that only exists in those terribly written romance novels you love so much!”
“He’s nothing like my… my romantic ideal, as you put it. This is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about! The boy who made my life a living hell just because I dared to defend a friend. He’s nearly gotten me killed at least three times, and he’s humiliated me more times than I care to count!” Ginny cried. “And now that I think of it, my own brain must have been fairly scrambled by all the curses flying around that night – I can’t believe I agreed to even try to be friends with someone like him!”
“And that’s why you’re so confused! You’ve seen how awful he is, but then again, he also kissed you in a moonlit fairy garden. What girl wouldn’t be all messed up about that?” Hermione said, sounding completely confident in her diagnosis of Ginny’s problems. “And add to that the reappearance of another person who also embodies a number of ideal qualities, and I would hate to be you right now.”
“Well, thank you, you’ve been horribly unhelpful,” Ginny snarked sarcastically.
“Have you heard anything from your family, after the newspaper incident?” Hermione asked, referring to the front page photo of Malfoy kissing her the morning after their night spent locked in the Astronomy Tower.
“Not about that incident, at least since Sirius stopped by to see me, but I have had my regular weekly letter that’s been decidedly oblivious to the whole thing. I think she’s hoping that if she doesn’t bring it up, it means it never happened. Or that my brothers never see it and figure out that I was the mysterious girl in the photograph, because then they’d never leave me alone – I’d be sharing my flat with all five of them,” Ginny said, smiling to herself as she tried to imagine the apoplectic shade of purple Ron’s face would turn if he knew that she and Malfoy were even “friends”, let alone everything else that had happened.
Hermione picked up a broom, and started sweeping under the tables, a task that Ginny hated more than most of their duties in the restaurant. Watching her friend move about, Ginny contemplated a passage that had been in her mother’s weekly letter, debating whether she should bring it up or not. Deciding that it was in the best interest of her friend, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded piece of parchment.
“Hermione, my mum did mention one thing that I think you should hear about. She’s always warning me about staying out of the path of the Death Eaters – in fact, I’d be concerned if she didn’t include something along those lines, worrier that she is – but she mentions something this week that you should know about.”
“Hmm?”
“There’s been some talk of creating a new Magical Declaration that will further restrict the freedoms and rights of Muggle-born witches and wizards. It’ll go far beyond all the wand registration and magical monitoring that you have to agree to now… she said that there’s been talk that they’ve been carrying out some kind of experiment – trying to find a way to permanently restrict the types of magic anyone who isn’t a pure blood can perform,” Ginny said, her voice low and serious. Hermione froze after turning to meet her friend’s eyes. “She thinks that it’s about to get a whole lot more dangerous for you around here, and suggested that you might want to consider returning to the Muggle world and your parents.”
“Your mum has been suggesting that since the very first moment you told her about me and how I convinced my parents to let me move away from home and study magic in a world they could never be part of,” Hermione answered genially. She noted Ginny’s concerned look, and sighed. “Ginny, I’m not going anywhere. Besides, if you were to ask my parents about their daughter Hermione, they’d proudly tell you that she was away studying in America and that they hoped to have her home for Christmas the next year.”
“I thought they knew where you were!” Ginny cried, half in shock, half in pure admiration.
“They did, for the first year or so. Hardly approved, but I can be fairly persuasive when I set my mind to something. But after learning more about the particular characteristics of the magic world – namely, that it’s not exactly the safest place for a witch with Muggle parents… well, I figured they would change their minds, and I couldn’t have that. I have too much to learn about magic!” Hermione said, determined. Ginny had to suppress a shiver; Hermione really could be a bit frightening sometimes. “Anyway, your brothers gave me some tips on how to Obliviate and Confund them into believing a different reality, one that they would be happier knowing.”
“Hermione, how come you’ve never said anything before?” Ginny asked, staring at her best friend in shock, feeling as if she were speaking to a complete stranger. Hermione glanced at her, and looked down as she obsessively the floor around her. “That can’t have been easy! And I’m not just talking about the magic behind it.”
“With everything else that’s been going on? Besides, Ron and that friend of his made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you about it – they thought it might give you some grand ideas the next time your mum gets too frightened and tries to pull you out of school,” Hermione said with a wry smile. Ginny felt a flush of anger; ever since Ron had met his newest friend, he’d grown rather secretive and bossy, always telling her what to do without telling her why. He and that Potter boy had formed some kind of secretive clique, and now they were dragging her friend into it.
“I see. It was alright for Ron and Harry to know about this – let me guess, they probably helped you cook up the whole plan too, didn’t they? I knew it was a mistake to bring you to the Burrow last summer, when I knew Harry was going to be there,” Ginny said, petulantly stomping her foot in anger. Hermione shook her head at Ginny in exasperation and turned away, walking to the other side of the dining room to check on the tables in the further corner. “What, are you just going to walk away?”
“Until you stop acting like a jealous twit? Yes, I am going to walk away. Ginny Weasley, you keep a great deal of secrets from me, but I’m not allowed to have any of my own?” Hermione demanded in a scolding tone of voice.
“I trust you. You’re one of the only people I trust in the entire world, besides my family. I never guessed that trust didn’t extend both ways, that’s all,” Ginny said softly. Hermione stared at her, her brown eyes shining in the dim light of the restaurant’s lamps, and she looked as if she were about to say something. Feeling edgy and raw, Ginny glanced around her, surveying if there was any more work that needed to be done, desperate to escape before she said anything to damage the only friendship that truly mattered to her. “Well, it looks as if everything’s in order here. I’ve got more homework than I can even keep track of right now, so I’ll be off.”
She was in such a hurry to get away from the site of the argument that she didn’t even pause to put on a coat before rushing out into the cold air, she just grabbed it from the back and dashed out the door. Which caused her to nearly crashed into the two masked Death Eaters loitering by the entrance.
In order to avoid colliding head on into the taller of the two, she stopped short and her shoes slid in the freshly fallen snow, causing her to emit a little squeal of surprise. The Death Eaters, who had been previously absorbed in their conversation, both turned to see the teenage girl struggling to regain her composure and shrug herself into her coat as the frigid air slammed into her, causing her to immediately start shivering – but not just from the cold.
“Is there a problem?” the one closest to her demanded brusquely. Ginny’s only thought was that her Muggle-born best friend was still inside, and would be wandering unknowingly into the company of two Death Eaters alone – never a safe thing to do, even if she had all her permits in order, but especially now, with an ongoing manhunt for an escaped convict that had everyone suspicious and nervous.
“Of course not, I just didn’t see you there in the dark,” she answered brightly, forcing herself to be cheerful and polite.
“You’re Weasley’s daughter, aren’t you?” the other Death Eater said, more of an accusatory statement than a question. Even behind their masks, Ginny could see a pointed look passing between the two men, and her heart starting beating a bit faster as the fear she hadn’t yet felt finally kicked in. They closed in on her, cutting off her path to the sidewalk.
“Seen anything suspicious around here? I’m sure you have heard about the man who escaped from Azkaban a few weeks back. Haven’t seen anything worth mentioning, now have you, girl?”
Looking up into their masked faces, the frustration that Ginny felt was the most terrifying thing about her situation. She couldn’t even see their faces. They thought they were powerful and important, as if the entire world should jump on their demand, and they wouldn’t even show their faces to the world. As her thoughts processed, she knew what answer she had to give, but the answer she wanted to give was the one that slipped out, before her better senses could grab hold of it.
“Of course not. Had I seen anything worth mentioning, I would surely have mentioned it. To the proper authorities, that is,” she said, not even trying to keep the contempt out of her voice. The Death Eater to her left reached out, gripping her elbow, squeezing it uncomfortably as he picked up on the defiance in her voice.
“You’d better take care, little girl. We know all about you and all about your family,” he said, his voice hypnotically soft and menacing. Ginny glared up at him, forcing herself to remain calm – and silent. He leaned closer, the grip on her arm becoming tighter, causing her to try to squirm free of his hold on her.
“More importantly, we know just how far away the rest of the wretched pack of mongrels they have the nerve to call purebloods live,” he continued. “A young girl like you, all alone in such a big city… you’d better take care. You might find that the streets are quite dangerous after dark – particularly on the route between this restaurant and the flat above the sweet shop.”
Ginny stared at them, unable to speak, not even to conjure a biting and sarcastic remark. Her mind was spinning – they knew where she lived. But the question was, why would they care? She was insignificant. Fodder enough for their children to torture during their moments of boredom at school, but hardly important enough for actual Death Eaters to go out of their way to terrify.
“Now then, girl, have you seen anything suspicious these past few weeks that you feel you should report to the authorities?” the other one asked as the painful grip on her arm was released.
“Nothing suspicious, no,” she answered deferentially, her voice even as she tried to keep the panic out of it.
“And if you do see anything…” the one with the soft, hypnotic voice prompted her.
“I’ll be sure to report it right away,” she parroted, gaining a slow nod of approval. Another look passed between the hooded men, and they seemed ready to depart.
“Very well. Mind yourself out in the streets this late at night – Hogsmeade isn’t as safe as we’d all like to believe,” the taller one said pointedly, as they turned and started walking away. As soon as their backs were to her, she was crouching down in the snow, her fear weighing on her so heavily that she wasn’t sure how much longer her knees would have been able to support her. She took a few deep breaths, trying to expel her panic and calm herself down, and covered her face with her shaking hands, unsure of what to do next. She tried to convince herself to stand, to go back into the restaurant, to tell Hermione everything and beg her to go home to her parents – or the Burrow, at least, where she’d be safer than out here on her own, but she couldn’t conjure up the energy to move.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, crouched in the snow with her jacket only half on and her legs freezing from the poor protection the skirt of her work uniform provided. But it was long enough that she nearly tumbled over when someone approached the restaurant entrance, as she realized their presence and tried to jump up, only to realize that her legs had fallen asleep. As she tripped over herself, a pair of arms reached out and caught her, pulling her up and supporting her as her legs regained their feeling.
“This is the Friday night plans that you’ve snubbed me and my exclusive group of friends for?” Malfoy asked skeptically, bending his knees to meet her at eye level as his warm hands held her steady at her waist. Her teeth were chattering from the cold, and she clumsily tried to explain to him that she was just waiting for her friend to finish closing up the restaurant. He watched her as she rambled, one eyebrow crooked in amusement, while his clever hands straightened out her coat, slipping her other arm in, pulling it closed and buttoning it for her as she tried to bat his ministrations aside.
“Well, it hardly matters. Are you ready, then? It’s always noted when a Malfoy leaves a social gathering – if I’m not back soon, they’ll assume the party is to blame and it’ll all be over before I get back,” Malfoy said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. She planted her feet and refused to move.
“No!” she cried emphatically, ignoring the surprised look on his face. She yanked her hand away from him and crossed her arms defiantly. “I have to wait for Hermione to finish – we always walk home together when it’s this late. I can’t leave her alone, the streets aren’t very safe.”
Malfoy was staring at her, in that quiet, piercing way of his that was so discomforting because it felt as if he could see right through her and all the secrets she had. Her own words, so similar to those of the barely veiled threats the Death Eaters had made, caused her to shiver involuntarily, remembering how frightening they’d been. She stared back at Malfoy, but couldn’t meet his eyes, not when she was feeling so vulnerable and he was staring at her in that knowing way. She settled for a point just above his shoulder, and hoped he didn’t notice.
He sighed dramatically, a deep sigh that communicated an amused exasperation. It was so unexpected that Ginny glanced at him, perplexed, the cold fear that had been gripping her for so long easing slightly as his prolonged sigh reminded him of Pansy Parkinson about to answer a question in class while attempting to portray an aura of someone who was just indulging the professor.
“Why didn’t you just say so? We’ll drop her at her flat on our way through,” he said, indulgently. “You didn’t have to make such a big fuss, you know. We are friends, after all. Friends help out friends of their friends with little favours now and then, or at least that’s what I’m told.”
“Malfoy, I don’t think Hermione would be particularly amenable to accepting such a favour from the likes of you,” she said.
“The likes of me?” he questioned, frowning, clearly irritated.
“She means someone who, if they had their way, would see to it that I was never allowed to even touch a wand, let alone live among decent wizards and contaminate their villages with my non-magical DNA,” Hermione said.
“You’re a Mudblood?” Malfoy asked, clearly surprised. Ginny jabbed him with her elbow, glaring at him with her eyes blazing, and he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Right, forgot you’re of the type whose brains completely implode at the merest whisper of any phrase that contains a trace of something considered not completely politically correct.”
“You’re speaking about my best friend and since you seem so determined for the two of us to be friends, it would only be natural to expect you not to resort to calling her filthy and derogatory names when she’s twenty times as clever as you and could probably curse you back into Grindelwald’s time if she feels you’re not giving her the proper amount of respect – not that she would, of course, but it should be enough to know that she could,” Ginny said huffily. Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Ginny continued before he could get a word in. “And don’t even try to say that everyone else says it, or I will be the one cursing you.”
“Well, now that you’ve made your feelings on this particular subject rather well known, why don’t we get going? Its freezing out here, and I’m sure your friend has much better things to do than stand around and listen to you threaten me all night,” Malfoy said, his voice rough with sarcasm as he grabbed Ginny’s hand and pulled her towards his waiting carriage. “You too, Muggle!”
Hermione watched, perplexed as Ginny yanked her hand away from him and kicked his shin.
“What was that for?” Malfoy raged.
“Her name is Hermione, not Muggle!” Ginny shouted, indignantly. Hermione rushed forward, as Malfoy’s face was bright red and he looked ready to pull out his own wand and begin cursing the difficult redheaded creature standing in front of him with her arms crossed, ready to do battle.
“But she is a Muggle, is she not?” Malfoy asked, incredulous. Couldn’t the stroppy little brat recognize that he had, at least, made an effort for her?
“Technically, I’m a Muggle-born witch, not a Muggle. Bloody hell, it’s freezing! And late! I have an essay to finish up for tomorrow. Let’s get going, shall we?” Hermione interjected, taking pity on the two stubborn and furious idiots squaring off in front of her. She brushed past the both of them, into the waiting carriage.
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Ginny was fairly certain that she should have conducted a bit of research into what life is like as one of Malfoy’s “friends” before she had agreed to become one. Because as far as she could tell, for her, it would be a matter of hanging around and being either completely bored or treated like some poor, clueless unfortunate who didn’t know how to behave in society. At least, that’s what she could assume, based on that night’s party.
After she and Malfoy had burst into the packed VIP lounge of All Hallows, there had been a veritable pause as everyone turned to witness the return of one of the event’s main attractions. Without Malfoy to fawn over, the single girls had had to settle for other Slytherins who weren’t quite as rich, popular or powerful, and that had them all a little uptight by the time Ginny and Malfoy appeared.
Ginny could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on her, and glancing quickly around the room, she was relieved that she hadn’t yet taken off her coat. Judging by the fashionable ensembles the girls were wearing, she doubted that her worn and comfortable white blouse and black skirt would make the grade. But Malfoy had been too eager to get back and there wasn’t time for her to stop at home and change. Not that it would have made any difference, Ginny surmised wryly to herself, as it was highly unlikely that she had any clothes they would approve of.
“Ahh, complete disdain! Adds a certain atmosphere to social gatherings, doesn’t it?” Ginny said, casting a mischievous glance up at Malfoy, who was glaring back at his friends, as if the force of his temper alone would make them all look away.
“We Slytherin much prefer open hostility,” Crabbe drawled, coming up behind her.
“Well, in this case, I think we have both,” she said, faking a bright smile as Goyle also joined them. Her attempts to carry on as if there was nothing amiss, even though they were being gawked at, only seemed to enrage them further. Ginny spotted Pansy Parkinson in the far corner, surrounded by a new batch of assumingly brainless followers, and it did warm Ginny’s heart to see that she was practically gnashing her teeth, watching Ginny banter with the Slytherins. She tossed her head, determined to not let them intimidate her into having a terrible night, especially when she didn’t really even want to be there. “I have no idea why your social gatherings are so popular. No one looks as if they are having a good time at all.”
“They don’t matter – we’re the ones that have the good time,” Crabbe said with a knowing looking, before eyeing a tall blonde hovering by the bar, clearly trying to catch his attention. “Can I get anyone a drink?”
“My usual. And nothing alcoholic for this one,” Malfoy said, tugging the end of Ginny’s braid. “Weasels can’t hold their liquor.”
Ginny swatted his hand away, glaring at him playfully. Their interchange hadn’t gone unnoticed by the crowd, but everyone had at least started to try hiding the fact that they were all watching them. Ginny tried to ignore how ridiculously expensive everyone’s designer apparel was, because the thought of what one of Millicent Bullstrode’s earrings could buy would make her ill. So caught up in her efforts and the constant distraction that was Draco Malfoy hovering around behind her, she barely noticed the commotion on the couch by the glassed-in wall, which had started to pull the focus in the room away from her. But after catching a few pointed looks around the room in that direction, she finally glanced that way, and froze in horror at what she saw.
It was Blaise Zabini – her quiet, introverted, nice Blaise Zabini – fully making out with some brunette Ginny didn’t recognize from school. Watching the spectacle, Ginny felt as if she’d been hit by lightning. After all, hadn’t he gone after Cho? The romantic hero in that particular tale couldn’t be a cheat, it just couldn’t be right, Ginny thought vehemently.
Malfoy, because there could never be something that he didn’t notice when it would otherwise be convenient for Ginny, picked up on her sudden tension.
“You’re far too magnificently stubborn to let this crowd intimidate you,” he whispered, leaning over her, obviously thinking that she was bothered by all the attention they’d garnered when Malfoy had reappeared with The Weasel. Feeling slightly nauseous, she struggled to shrug it off, promising herself that she’d corner Blaise alone later that night and grill him about what could have possibly come over him. She feverishly hoped that someone had cursed him into acting so strangely.
“Not at all intimidated,” Ginny shot back, her voice sounding weak and strangled as she forced it out. “Just wondering why on Earth these supposedly famous parties are supposed to be so fabulous as to warrant their exclusivity? As far as I can see, they must get rather dull after awhile.”
Malfoy gave her slanted look out, but even as she watched him out of the corner of her eyes, pretending to watch the crowd, she saw a faint half-smile cross his lips, as if he were smiling to himself, and she felt a flutter in her stomach that set her heart racing.
“Well, weasel, it’s not going to get any more exciting until you start lecturing us all on the errors of our ways and convincing us to reform our arrogant ways,” he said teasingly, turning towards her. “That will liven things up. Why else do you think that I brought you along?”
“Why else would you force me to come along?” Ginny admonished, still longing for her pajamas and the quiet of her room, especially now. She had to keep her eyes glue to Malfoy to keep herself from staring at Blaise’s antics over on the couch.
“I hardly had to force you – the strength of my inner charm was too much for you to handle. Your protestations never stood a chance against me,” he smirked, leaning over her. She glared up at him, Blaise all but forgotten as she tried to summon a witty retort while dealing with the storm of butterflies the look that Malfoy was giving her was conjuring in her stomach.
“I’m far too magnificently stubborn to be persuaded by your charm, my friend,” Ginny scoffed.
“Give me time,” he said, leaning in before she could protest or move away, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. She pushed him off, involuntarily throwing her head back and laughing.
“If we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to stop doing that,” Ginny said as she laughed at him as he indignantly tried to play off her rejection while the crowd in the room turned to stare at them. He then smiled at her, a slow, cocky smile that suddenly made Ginny feel as if she had just been backed into a corner. She stepped backwards, bumping into the edge of the bar, nearly jumping out of her skin as he moved in closer.
“You and I can never be friends,” he said, his voice low as he leaned over her. Her heart started to race, and while she longed to retort, the way he was looking down at her, so predatorily, seemed to have stolen her capacity for speech. “We can continue to pretend, weasel. If you want me to play along with this ridiculous experiment of yours, I’m willing. But only for so long. And I think you know why.”
“And why is that?” she asked stupidly, fighting between panic and desire as he placed his hands on the bar on either side of her, essentially trapping her. He smiled again, a slow, cock-sure smile.
“There’s too much passion, too much energy between us. We’re either going to be a pair of passionate lovers, the kind of they write epic stories about, or we’re going to be mortal enemies, consumed only with the thought of destroying each other for the rest of our lives. Often, we’ll probably both at the same time. But we’re never going to be just friends, and I can only hope that you’ll realize the truth of that sooner rather than later,” he said, his voice enchantingly soothing as he lifted a hand to brush the strand of hair that had fallen out of her braid aside. She was staring straight into his eyes, and as the reality of what he’d said sank in, the crushing weight of panic that only ever accompanied an attack of her claustrophobia overwhelmed her. She just nodded weakly, before twisting out of his reach.
As she dashed away, she could feel his eyes on her. She turned once, and saw him leaning casually against the bar, watching her with confident, carefree smile on his face, and in that instant, she did hate him – for how could he be so relaxed and confident when just the thought of what he’d said, let alone whether or not it was an accurate diagnosis of their relationship, had her running for the nearest wide-open space before she hyperventilated?
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She didn’t have a chance to get very far. She’d made the mistake of cutting across the dance floor, which had become rather crowded as the music had started playing. Trying to push her way through the groups of gyrating girls and the boys standing, just aside, watching them and working up to the moment when they’d make their moves, Crabbe and Goyle had spotted her. Grabbing her quickly and trying to charm her with their smiles, they pulled her into their circle on the dance floor, pleading with her to dance with them. She tried to shrug them off, but they were rather insistent. She could still feel Malfoy’s eyes on her, and even as disconcerting as that was, what upset her more was that he could possibly be leaning ever so casually against that bar, smirking to himself that he had the power to frazzle her so much. So, she stood still for a moment, picturing him (for she didn’t dare look over her shoulder to see whether or not he was watching), and after a second’s consideration, she decided to join in.
Crabbe and Goyle, who concentrated so vigorously on projecting their suave and worldly aura, seemed to relax with Ginny, who decided that if she was going to dance, then she was going to dance. Which meant that she had to push all the snotty Slytherin girls, all silently competing with each other over who had the best moves, the best looks, the best features in order to attract the ever-sought-after attention of one of the senior Slytherin boys, out of the way. Knowing inherently that Crabbe and Goyle were really just two ridiculous boys who loved to goof around and laugh as much as the next boy, Ginny stepped up her game and decided to be as ridiculously silly as she would be with Hermione when the two girls were alone in the Three Broomsticks, dancing around the dining room as when they closed. They stared at her for a moment, as they if they were trying to decide whether or not she had lost her mind, but then jumped right in.
Despite herself, Ginny found herself having a great time – with every outrageous move she tried, intent only on making her two companions laugh, they would pull out something equally outrageous, making her throw her head back and howl with laughter. Before long, she was sweating and smiling, feeling very loose and almost elated. Malfoy’s best friends, who she’d never really understood before, were showing her a very good time, and in the process, all the cookie-cutter girls who were hovering around them were growing more and more upset with the situation, as they were continually ignored for the plain, ordinary Weasley girl, acting a fool and laughing about it, deliciously unaware – or uncaring – how irritating they found her.
Ginny was shouting to Crabbe that he’d better turn around and see the dismal expression on his date’s face, as she stood just behind their huddle on the dance floor, standing with her arms crossed and glowering at Ginny, when the touch of someone’s hands on her hips caused her to jump up, her heart hammering in her chest as he mind immediately jumped to Malfoy. As she turned around to see who it was, she was surprised to see it was Blaise Zabini, smiling down at her with his handsome face and warm eyes. He mouthed something to her, but Ginny couldn’t make it out over the throbbing din of the club music, and finally, he just gestured towards the doors to the balcony, and pulled her along with him.
Ginny gasped in the fresh, cold air as soon as it touched her heated skin as they stepped outside. Her ears were ringing from the music, and she felt so hot from the dance floor that she almost expected steam to be rising off of her limbs.
“Oh, it’s lovely out here,” she said with a happy sigh. She leaned against the balcony’s railing, and tried not to remember the last time she’d been on there, the night she’d accidentally overhead Blaise and Cho discussing her, and whether or not Blaise was interested in her.
“Nice and quiet,” Blaise said, in that quiet voice of his that set Ginny’s heart racing. She tried to shrug it off, recalling the horrible scene of him and that random girl snogging on the couch just an hour ago, but as he leaned down beside her, she couldn’t help it. After all, this was Blaise Zabini, the very first Slytherin to ever come to her rescue.
“I can hardly hear a thing, my ears are still ringing from the loud music,” Ginny said with a giggle. It had been a long time since she’d had that much fun. He turned and smiled at her, and Ginny had to look away before she started blushing. Oh, what a powerful smile that one had!
“How have you been, Weasley? I haven’t had a chance to properly say hello to you,” he said.
“No, I don’t supposed you have. Malfoy’s been keeping you rather occupied – like a puppy whose been left alone for a few hours, desperate for attention,” Ginny said, biting back a smile as she thought of how exuberant Malfoy could be when it came to his friends and the things that made him happy. The more time she spent around him, and the less she came to despise him, the more she realized that he was almost two people – the snide, arrogant, ruthless cold-hearted bastard who ruled Hogwarts with an iron fist and raging temper, but also a delightful little boy who was easily enchanted and excitable about the things that he cared about. He’d been almost jovial all week, rushing to and from classes with his group of friends whole again, skiving off to run into town or take over the Quidditch pitch. Ginny had hardly seen them at all, and knew only of their exploits from the whispered gossip in the halls.
“It’s hard for him when all four of us aren’t around,” Blaise said thoughtfully. Ginny leaned closer, wanting to press him about why that was, but at the same time, she really didn’t want to seem interested in Malfoy, especially not in front of Blaise. “Especially if Tonks is also in London. He takes that pretty hard.”
“Why is that?” Ginny asked, unable to help herself.
“Because we’re all he has. With his parents away in London all the time – they have been ever since he was little – we’re more like his real family. He hates to be alone, in that grand old coffin of a house he lives in. Even with the four of us there, it still feels incredibly empty,” Blaise said. Ginny ignored the stab in her chest at this new revelation, not wanting to acknowledge that she and Malfoy may carry similar burdens.
“What’s brought you back to Hogsmeade? I imagined you’d be off with Cho on their training tour, somewhere in Europe,” Ginny exclaimed, eagerly changing the subject, and unable to conjure anything other than the burning question that had been on her mind since his dramatic reappearance at Hogwarts. Blaise was silent for a moment, and he gave a great sigh.
“I was getting in her way. I just wanted to be with her, for her to be happy, but I was causing her nothing but trouble. So I came back here,” he said, his voice so low, Ginny could barely hear him over the throbbing music inside. Despite that, Ginny could hear the pain in his voice, and cursed herself for asking something so foolish.
But at least it was a reason why she’d seen him recklessly snogging with some girl he couldn’t possibly know very well. Her romantic hero was nursing a broken heart, and for now, if he needed to repair it with meaningless flings with meaningless girls, she could forgive him his imperfection and hope that it wouldn’t last too long.
“A rather lot has happened since you left! Insanity, really, if you stop and think about it. An elaborate plot, a raving lunatic, a kidnapping and a bout of torture later, and Malfoy and I suddenly decide to call a truce and try to be friends,” Ginny said, desperate to change the subject, and take that melancholy look of his face.
“Now that is rather impossible to believe. I’ve heard the story in bits and pieces, but I’ll have to get you tell me the rest of it someday soon. Otherwise, it’s just too hard to fathom. You and Malfoy. Friends,” he said, feigning shock.
“You’re friends with him, you must know what he’s like. An offer of friendship to him ought to come with a warning label,” Ginny cried, her frustrations with him from earlier in the night coming to a head once again.
“Well, he’s particularly Malfoy-ish when it comes to you, Weasley,” Blaise said with a laugh as Ginny sputtered his objections. “Oh come on, you know exactly how to push his buttons, and you must enjoy doing it. You were the first person to stand up to him.”
“The first person foolish enough to stand up to him,” she said wryly. “And now look where it’s landed me.”
“It was quite wonderful to watch. No one but Tonks can put him in his place like that,” he said with a laugh. They settled back into a companionable silence, staring off in the night as the beat of the music inside throbbed against the silence. Ginny was starting to feel the cold, so far from the heat of the dance floor and standing in her blouse and skirt. She considered going back inside, to claim her coat and inform Malfoy that she was leaving, but she wasn’t quite ready to break the spell of that moment, in Blaise Zabini’s calm and reassuring presence. She felt like she had an ally, someone who understood Malfoy and what she was up against when dealing with him.
“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out so well, Blaise Zabini, but I am glad you’re back. We all missed you around here,” she said softly, and was rewarded with a warm smile from him. He turned towards her at her words, placing his hand atop hers, which were resting on the railing.
“Some more than others, I hope,” he said, his eyes glinting strangely. Ginny froze, unsure what to make of that comment. He leaned in a bit closer, looking as if he wanted to whisper something in her ear, but whatever it was he was going to say, Ginny would never find out.
Because Draco Bloody Malfoy, with his impeccable talent for catching Ginny unaware, burst through the doors to the balcony, startling them both with the sudden interruption. Ginny jumped slightly, remembering what Malfoy’s jealousy could do, but Blaise acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, his hand still resting warmly on hers as he stood close by.
“Don’t mean to interrupt this rather cozy-looking tête-à-tête,” Malfoy said, his tone cold and his face stony. “Are you ready to call it a night? I’d like to get the weasel home before she turns into a pumpkin.”
“Seems yet another night of playing Cinderella has come to an end. Reality beckons,” she said uneasily, hoping her weak attempt at a joke would break the strained atmosphere between the three of them.
“Come along, little weasel. Your coat is inside, you must be freezing,” Malfoy said, and Ginny wanted to cringe away from his hard look as he spoke. It had none of the gentle amusement she’d experience earlier that night when he’d found her crouched in the snow.
“Part of your new duties as her friend?” Blaise asked, his tone even yet slightly hard.
“The girl has developed a talent for disaster – and it’s a dangerous world out there for little weasels,” Malfoy answered slowly. Ginny frowned as she watched this interchange, and couldn’t help but feel as there was a deeper subtext to their words than she could decipher.
“I hardly need you to hold my hand while I cross the street and make sure that I reach my flat. I’ve been on my own for a while now, and it’s only since I’ve met you that I’ve started running into trouble,” Ginny cried out, irritated with Malfoy’s tendency to treat her like a child. She sighed in exasperation, and marched away from both boys, pushing past Malfoy on her way back into the club.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she thought she heard Malfoy mumble as she passed by.
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She had looked so fragile. That had been his first impression of her that night, when he met her as she was shivering in the snow, her coat splayed around her. There had been a brittleness in her eyes, as if it would take just a touch of pressure before she would break.
He hated to see her like that.
So he’d tried, all night, to make her angry, to get her flustered, to irritate her, to get her to argue with him. Anything to bring back the courageous defiance she always wore like a shield about her, because it always brought the fire back into her eyes. Well, also because it was just so entertaining to see her when she was angry, if he were to be completely honest.
But nothing had worked. She’d scattered away from him the first chance she got, like a skittish animal unsure if it was wandering into a trap, instead of rising to the challenge and contradicting what he had said. But watching her on the dance floor, surrounded by the safety of his two best friends, he’d seen whatever it was that was haunting her melt away and she’d let go, allowing herself to have a good time.
He tried not to hate Crabbe and Goyle for it. He tried even harder not to grab Blaise, violently shove him against the wall and demand to know what the two of them had been giggling about together, on their own, for almost half an hour, and demand that he stay at least ten feet away from her at all times.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said, standing just outside the entrance to her flat.
“I hardly had a choice in the matter, did I?” she asked sarcastically. She’d barely spoken to him since they left the club. “You really don’t have to walk me to my door, Malfoy. I am rather capable of walking five feet without stumbling across trouble.”
“Perhaps, but why take that chance?” he smiled. She turned to him, clearly exasperated, and planted her feet while crossing her arms and staring up at him defiantly.
“That’s it, Malfoy. That. Is. It. I refuse to act like any of your other ‘friends’ who jump up to obey your every command. You don’t have that kind of control over me, and I’m bloody well tired of you barking orders at me. So I am going to stand here, like the stubborn little weasel you claim that I am, until you march your refined and spoiled arse back into your carriage and leave me to walk up to my door in peace.”
“Weasley, I’m attempting to be a gentleman here,” Malfoy protested. “Surely you can’t fault me for behaving as I’ve been taught since I was old enough to understand there was a difference between girls and boys.”
“Now, if I let you off with that excuse, what’s to stop you from using it again? How am I to know what despicable things you’ve been taught from birth? Your horrible manners with Hermione is a perfectly good illustration proving that I should be very wary of that claim.”
“I gave the girl a ride home, didn’t I?” he growled, irritated. He stared at her, hoping to menace her into compliance. She stared right back at him, defiant as ever. If he hadn’t been so irritated, he would have been pleased to see it. But of course, trust the Weasley girl to have the worst timing possible to regain the defiance that he normally found both attractive and irritating, in equal amounts.
“Just be sensible, and let me walk myself the remaining four steps to my door, all on my own,” she demanded. Oh, how he appreciated how very different she was from all the cookie-cutter Slytherin girls who populated his life. They, at this point in the conversation, would have started to attempt to charm him into compliance, batting their eyelashes, breaking out some irritating pet-name for him, start using a simpering tone of voice that was so very irritating, it took a great deal of discipline to remember that he had been taught a certain degree of decorum – and that it was considered rather brutish to curse an unarmed girl for being a nitwit had been chief among those lessons. But Weasley, she had no time for such foolish nonsense – it would never even cross her mind as a possible strategy to bend him to her will. She would try to reason with him, argue with him, threaten him, stand up and cause such a nuisance that he would have to give in just to make her stop.
As her eyes sparkled defiantly at him in the darkness of the cold winter night, he was struck by how exhilarating it was, arguing with her about something ridiculous and mundane as whether or not he was allowed to escort her to her door.
“Perhaps we can negotiate a compromise,” he said, his resolve softened in that moment of weakness. “I’ll stand here and watch you walk yourself to your door, and stand here until you light a candle in your flat.”
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she considered his (incredibly generous, in his opinion) offer.
“It’s either that, weasel, or I’m going to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder and march you up to your room, with you kicking and screaming, if necessary,” he growled after she considered it for a second too long.
“Fine. I suppose that will be about as good an agreement as we’re going to reach tonight,” she finally agreed, and after he had grunted his acknowledgement, he caught a sly smile she was trying to hide, and instantly knew that she had won that round. “Listen Malfoy, thank you for dragging me out with you tonight, even though I seriously thought I wanted to be anywhere else in the world then at that party. I actually ended up having a fairly nice time.”
“Good. There’ll be another event next week you’ll have to clear your schedule for,” he said, remembering the half-baked plans he and Goyle had discussed that afternoon involving a villa in the south of France.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said, trying to admonish him. But the hour was late, and he could tell she was exhausted, and the half-hearted attempt at protest was brushed aside.
“Goodnight, now, little weasel. Run along inside, and don’t forget to light that candle,” he said softly, wanting to end the evening on a high note. She smile sweetly at him, and after digging out her keys, she walked the five steps to her door, and went inside.
He waited outside, his breath sending out puffs of steam in the cold air, for a minute until finally he saw light fill the top window and her slim silhouette pass by, waving once. He smiled, pleased that she had kept to their agreement. After her form disappeared from the window, his smile faded as quickly as it had come.
“I know you’re there,” he said, his voice deadly soft. He looked beyond the entrance to Weasley’s building, further down the darkened alley way, and could see them standing there, trying to crouch in the shadows. In their dark robes and hoods, they were almost imperceptible. To almost anyone, but for Draco, who had grown up in their ranks, who could recognize all but the very newest of their order even while in their full regalia, they were fully visible. He’d seen them earlier that night, as he’d arrived at the Three Broomsticks to pick up Weasley.
The two forms walked forward, their boots crunching in the snow. They stood in front of him, their embarrassment at being caught making their bold and defiant as Malfoy stared them down, allowing his rage to build as his mind spun out the different scenarios and reasons that would have had them stalking the Weasley girl.
“If I ever catch either of you – or any other of your friends or coworkers – hovering around that girl again, it will be the very last, entirely foolish, thing you will do,” he said coldly. “I don’t care who sent you, and I don’t care why you’ve been following her. It ends right now.”
“You can warn us off all you like – about ready to give up this assignment anyway. Scaring little girls in the dark isn’t really what we signed up for. But there are others,” one said, his thick accent giving away his identity. He was too inept to even attempt to disguise himself, Draco noted with disgust. “Others who aren’t going to care, not with the amount of Galleons being offered. And they’re not going to care what a kid like you thinks about it, either.”
“I’ll say it one more time – if you even look at her again, it will be the last thing you do,” he said, his tone ice cold. The two Death Eaters standing in front of him glanced at each other uncertainly, but then the one who had spoken nodded his understanding. Without waiting for them to slip away in the shadows again, Draco turned and marched back to his waiting carriage, making sure that the door snapped shut enough to emphasize his statement.
As it rolled away, headed back to the Malfoy home, his mind started to run through a list of names, sorting out who would have enough influence, money and resources to assign two mid-tier Death Eaters to stalk Ginny Weasley.
He didn’t like the two names, the only two who fit the criteria, that he came up with.
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She started hiding in the library during lunch or any free time she had between classes. It was rather beneficial to her grades, as it gave her ample opportunity for catching up on homework and poring over her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook (but mostly because every time she succeeded in answering a question correctly in his class, Snape would glower darkly at her – an incredibly satisfying reward for all her hard work). While the improvement in her grades was definitely a benefit, it wasn’t the reason she was hiding out there, at the dusty little desk hidden at the back of the stacks.
Oh no, the real reason? Had everything to do with Draco Malfoy and his newly returned best friend. She didn’t feel it was quite right for her to continue to stare longingly at Blaise Zabini with Draco Malfoy still insisting on acting as if he were her boyfriend. Any time she spoke to Blaise, she could see Malfoy positively glaring at her, as if she were betraying him, and he had any right to feel betrayed. Of course, it didn’t help matters at all that every time Malfoy stared at her, her heart started pounding as she remembered what he’d said to her that night at the party, and after her heart started to pound, she’d get all nervous and skittish, and bloody Malfoy would get that bloody self-satisfied grin on his face, because there was nothing he loved more than a demonstration of his power to affect her.
So, she was avoiding him. And his best friend. Other than a few chance encounters in the hallway, which she’d managed to extricate herself from rather quickly and deftly, she’d barely seen the lot of them in almost a week. While her schoolwork had certainly improved, her ability to concentrate had not. Ginny would catch herself staring out whatever window was closest or losing herself in her thoughts as she flew on her broomstick to school, often getting so off course, she’d have to run to make it to her first class on time.
Looking down at her parchment paper, she sighed heavily. It was now covered with a number of inky, Quidditch-related doodles and not a lot of Potions-related notes had appeared since she’d sat down. She had, assumingly, been staring out the window for the majority of the period; the flurry of snowflakes dancing around a rare sunny sky had been impossible to resist. Between her troubles with Draco Malfoy, the sudden reappearance of Blaise Zabini and her know-it-all best friend’s musings on both subjects and, in particular, how Ginny felt about them, she felt as if it were perfectly within reason to indulge in a few hours’ daydreaming.
She was so deep in thought, justifying the large amount of precious study-time she was devoting to staring blankly out of windows, she nearly screamed as the very cause of her inability to focus sat himself down at her table and yanked the piece of parchment on which she’d been trying to write a Potions essay out from under her fingertips.
“You have been passing up the opportunity to spend time with me and my exclusive group of friends for this?” he snorted, half-amused, half-disgusted, holding out her be-doodled essay. She tried to snatch it away, but with his longer arms, he easily held it out just out of reach.
“You bursting in here certainly isn’t helping my level of concentration,” she grumbled defensively, her face burning as he made a large show of examining her doodles. She refused to meet his eyes and acknowledge the grin he was giving her, unwilling to be charmed by him.
“Now, I’ve been fairly patient here, weasel, with your recent absences among my group of friends, believing your claims of being too busy with schoolwork and insistence that you must maintain a specific level of academic performance in consideration of your scholarship, but after seeing this demonstration of your commitment to academia,” he said, waving her drawing derisively, “I believe one could only conclude that you are only using that as an excuse to avoid me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. In order to be avoiding you, it would have to be common for me to spend my free time during school hours with you and your group of spoiled, obnoxious hooligans, but that’s hardly the case, now isn’t it?” she asked, finally retrieving her parchment. Before she’d succumbed to a bout of daydreaming, she’d actually managed to make some good notes for her essay. “Just because I haven’t altered my usual habits to include spending time with you and your friends hardly constitutes avoiding you.”
He slid his chair in closer to her, trapping her against the wall. Smiling with a mischievous glint that both made her heart beat a little bit faster and sent a shiver of fear down her spine, he leaned in.
“Now, do be a bit friendlier, weasel, or you won’t be getting your surprise,” he said.
“I don’t like surprises,” she said, gritting her teeth. She hated having him so close to her, particularly when he reached out and resting his hand over hers, lightly stroking her fingers as he grinned that stupid boyish grin of his. It made her feel so many things she desperately didn’t want to be feeling, especially not from him.
“No, I don’t imagine you would. You hardly seem the type to enjoy fun, after all. However, in the name of our friendship, as you annoyingly insist on terming our relationship, I challenge you to suck it up and indulge me for a moment,” he said, his eyes dancing with excitement. “Now close your eyes.”
Ginny obliged his request, as it would violate her very nature to turn down a challenge – particularly from him, although she did so with a long, drawn-out sigh. She heard him rummaging around in his bag, and could sense that he had placed something down in front of her. When he instructed, she opened her eyes again, and was a bit perplexed by what she saw.
Lying on the table in front of her was an incredibly elaborate mask – the kind that rich ladies would wear to extravagant Halloween balls. It was decorated by an amazing array of colours, encrusted with diamonds and gold trim, spreading out to form the shape of gold-tipped butterfly wings. Looking up at Malfoy questioningly, her fingers poised over it, she found she couldn’t even speak. The desire to reach out and touch the mask was incredibly strong; she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen something so amazing before and she longed to pick it up, try it on and run off to find Hermione so the two girls could examine its loveliness properly.
“What’s this all about?” Ginny asked instead, because it was Malfoy sitting beside her and she didn’t want him to see her so excited by something he had given her.
“It’s an invitation, of course. Haven’t you even been invited to a masquerade ball before?” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing. He plucked the mask out from under her trembling finger tips and held it up to her face. The swath of glittering tulle hanging in ribbons from the side was, it soon became apparent, spelled – it started tying itself around her head. “We hold one every year for Halloween. It’s an incredibly exclusive party, and only those with proper invitations can gain entrance.”
“Then why are you inviting me?” she muttered, heartsick with dread over the very thought of it. Her last attempt at socializing with the elite at a similar event – Cho’s party – had not ended very well, and with the rash of strange incidents occurring around town (not to mention her own run-in with the Death Eaters), she wasn’t sure it would be wise to risk another. Malfoy, to his credit, ignored her comment, concentrating instead on supervising the mask that had tied itself securely around her head.
“There now. That’s perfect,” he announced decisively, staring intently at Ginny. She looked away, unable to face that look of childish wonder in his eyes – it was becoming painfully obvious that Halloween must be his favorite holiday, for he was positively acting like a small child about his proposed costume for her. She reached behind and tugged at the tulle, pulling the mask from her face. She turned it over to examine it.
“A butterfly? You see me as a butterfly?” she asked with disdain. Malfoy nodded, thoughtfully.
“Yes. Unique and elusive,” he said slowly as he leaned in closer, his voice soft and seductive, his gray eyes fixed directly on hers in a way that made almost squirm with the desire to throw her arms around him and snog him senseless. When she realized he was only a breadth away, she jumped, smashing her elbow against the wall, causing her to curse loudly.
“Extremely jittery,” he said with a long suffering sigh.
“I don’t know if I can make it to your party – sorry, masquerade ball,” she corrected herself even as Malfoy looked as if he were going to interrupt her. “Halloween is usually the busiest night of the year at the restaurant, and if Rosmerta has booked a private party in the Merlin Room, then there will be no way I’ll be able to break free.”
“Oh, silly child, you can’t refuse an invitation to this kind of event. Believe me, Rosmerta herself will march you down to my house, no matter how busy her restaurant may be on that night. And that mask is special – I’ll be able to see that it’s you, regardless of what costume you come in or how large the sea of other disguises. You’ll be the only one with anything like it,” he said, trying to entice her.
“I can’t say yes right away, Malfoy. I’ll have to see,” she said quietly, touched by how much he seemed to want her to come. He stared at her, boyish grin instantly gone and replaced with a cold look indicating that he was not at all happy with her response.
“Remember, weasel, butterflies are elusive. You pass up your chance to catch one, you may never get a second one,” he snapped, pulling the mask out of her hands. He stood up, appearing ready to storm away, but he paused a few steps away and turned. “Be careful, weasel. While you’re still trying to decide if you’re strong enough to keep hating me, I may decide to stop chasing you.”
After he left, Ginny stared down at her now half-crumpled sheet of parchment containing the fruits of her daydreaming and a few lucid notes that might eventually be useful when she wrote her paper. In a fit of emotion she would never be able to adequately describe, she shredded the paper to bits. Feeling completely unsatisfied as she observed the pathetic bits of parchment scattered across the table, she felt the need to just scream welling up inside of her, this incredible pressure that needed to be released before she lost her mind. After furiously gathering her books and shoving them into her bag, she fled the library and sought the only place where she could truly express herself when it came to Draco Malfoy. She ran down to the Quidditch pitch.
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A/N: Thanks for being patient. More to come sooner rather than later, I promise. But, hopefully a scene where Draco inadvertently compares himself to a butterfly was worth it?
From HYD: The demand that she meet him at a party (or, in my case, drags her to a party) where she sees his best friend making out with other people.
“It’s a simple question, Ginny, you don’t have to get so stroppy with me about it,” Hermione said sharply as she bustled about the empty restaurant Friday night after closing, her patience having snapped after the third time Ginny had answered a benign question with a sarcastic and biting remark.
“Sorry,” Ginny mumbled. She dropped the pile of receipts she was adding up and sighed, unable to concentrate.
“Considering your current dilemma, I’ll forgive you this time, but the state of your various romances is hardly a good reason to snap at a friend,” Hermione sniffed disapprovingly, with a sly look at Ginny, who had buried her face in her hands as she groaned.
“Various romances?” she groaned. “Hermione, don’t tease. Besides, I don’t have ANY romances, let alone various.”
“Oh, come now. What about Malfoy? Wasn’t it just a week ago he was confessing his undying love to you?”
“Considering his brain had just been scrambled by a few powerful doses of the Cruciatus Curse, I’ve decided to just write that confession off as a moment pure insanity. Unfortunately, he has failed to see it that way, what with his firm belief that he actually meant what he said,” Ginny said despairingly. Hermione tried valiantly to hold back her laughter at her friend’s expense, but she just couldn’t help it.
“Oh, Ginny, one day, you are going to look back and recognize the dramatic irony in this situation,” Hermione said bemusedly.
“And what irony is that?” Ginny demanded grumpily, tossing down the receipts in frustration as she lost count again.
“You have a hopelessly romantic soul, Ginny Weasley, and would probably have dropped all protestations and doubts about such ill-fated proclamations of love if they were coming from anyone other than Draco Malfoy. Particularly given the circumstances and past events that all conspired to lead up to said proclamation,” Hermione said, her voice taking on that particular authoritative quality it always got when she was giving a lecture or reciting a list of facts that proved a particular argument she had been trying to make. “But, of course, because it is Draco Malfoy, you can’t even recognize him for what he is.”
“And what is that?” Ginny sneered, feeling decidedly agitated that her best friend, the one person she could discuss the highly controversial topic of Draco Malfoy with, was, in fact, not playing the sympathetic role she’d envisioned that afternoon. Hermione wasn’t supposed to contribute to the confusing turmoil that seemed to shroud her life whenever the subject of Malfoy was brought up.
“Well, obviously your romantic ideal. Now, before you get all huffy and flounce out of here, vowing never to speak to me again or perhaps plotting some form of revenge and writing off to the twins for details on their latest practical joke, I still think you should stay as far away from him as possible. But it’s easy for me to see why you’re so mixed up about all this, and that’s because we’re talking about the boy who broke a hundred different rules when he healed your arm – I don’t care if he dismissed it and played it off as if they are rules he is exempt from because of who his father is, because that is complete bollocks and everyone knows that it’s really dangerous to break that set of rules. And then, after the horrid public display via spelled mistletoe that was your first kiss, he then proceeded to snog you in a moonlit fairy garden, waited for you all day in the cold when you almost stood him up for your date together – to which he demanded you attend in front of your entire school thus defying every social norm he’s grown up believing, tried to sneak you in to see your favorite Quidditch team and ended up getting the two of you locked in the tower for the night, and tried to keep you calm the entire time after learning about your fear of tight spaces.”
“Hermione, I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Ginny mumbled uncomfortably.
“I’m not quite finished yet. Then, of course, he raced off to your rescue after finding out that the psychotic Claire had kidnapped you and locked you in a closet, and let them curse him so that nothing would happen to you – all of this, after thinking that you’d slept with some random guy. And then he told you he loved you, and even after all that you’ve said to him, telling him to leave you alone and how you’ll never be his girlfriend, he’s still persisting. Ginny, this is the kind of tragic romantic hero that only exists in those terribly written romance novels you love so much!”
“He’s nothing like my… my romantic ideal, as you put it. This is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about! The boy who made my life a living hell just because I dared to defend a friend. He’s nearly gotten me killed at least three times, and he’s humiliated me more times than I care to count!” Ginny cried. “And now that I think of it, my own brain must have been fairly scrambled by all the curses flying around that night – I can’t believe I agreed to even try to be friends with someone like him!”
“And that’s why you’re so confused! You’ve seen how awful he is, but then again, he also kissed you in a moonlit fairy garden. What girl wouldn’t be all messed up about that?” Hermione said, sounding completely confident in her diagnosis of Ginny’s problems. “And add to that the reappearance of another person who also embodies a number of ideal qualities, and I would hate to be you right now.”
“Well, thank you, you’ve been horribly unhelpful,” Ginny snarked sarcastically.
“Have you heard anything from your family, after the newspaper incident?” Hermione asked, referring to the front page photo of Malfoy kissing her the morning after their night spent locked in the Astronomy Tower.
“Not about that incident, at least since Sirius stopped by to see me, but I have had my regular weekly letter that’s been decidedly oblivious to the whole thing. I think she’s hoping that if she doesn’t bring it up, it means it never happened. Or that my brothers never see it and figure out that I was the mysterious girl in the photograph, because then they’d never leave me alone – I’d be sharing my flat with all five of them,” Ginny said, smiling to herself as she tried to imagine the apoplectic shade of purple Ron’s face would turn if he knew that she and Malfoy were even “friends”, let alone everything else that had happened.
Hermione picked up a broom, and started sweeping under the tables, a task that Ginny hated more than most of their duties in the restaurant. Watching her friend move about, Ginny contemplated a passage that had been in her mother’s weekly letter, debating whether she should bring it up or not. Deciding that it was in the best interest of her friend, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded piece of parchment.
“Hermione, my mum did mention one thing that I think you should hear about. She’s always warning me about staying out of the path of the Death Eaters – in fact, I’d be concerned if she didn’t include something along those lines, worrier that she is – but she mentions something this week that you should know about.”
“Hmm?”
“There’s been some talk of creating a new Magical Declaration that will further restrict the freedoms and rights of Muggle-born witches and wizards. It’ll go far beyond all the wand registration and magical monitoring that you have to agree to now… she said that there’s been talk that they’ve been carrying out some kind of experiment – trying to find a way to permanently restrict the types of magic anyone who isn’t a pure blood can perform,” Ginny said, her voice low and serious. Hermione froze after turning to meet her friend’s eyes. “She thinks that it’s about to get a whole lot more dangerous for you around here, and suggested that you might want to consider returning to the Muggle world and your parents.”
“Your mum has been suggesting that since the very first moment you told her about me and how I convinced my parents to let me move away from home and study magic in a world they could never be part of,” Hermione answered genially. She noted Ginny’s concerned look, and sighed. “Ginny, I’m not going anywhere. Besides, if you were to ask my parents about their daughter Hermione, they’d proudly tell you that she was away studying in America and that they hoped to have her home for Christmas the next year.”
“I thought they knew where you were!” Ginny cried, half in shock, half in pure admiration.
“They did, for the first year or so. Hardly approved, but I can be fairly persuasive when I set my mind to something. But after learning more about the particular characteristics of the magic world – namely, that it’s not exactly the safest place for a witch with Muggle parents… well, I figured they would change their minds, and I couldn’t have that. I have too much to learn about magic!” Hermione said, determined. Ginny had to suppress a shiver; Hermione really could be a bit frightening sometimes. “Anyway, your brothers gave me some tips on how to Obliviate and Confund them into believing a different reality, one that they would be happier knowing.”
“Hermione, how come you’ve never said anything before?” Ginny asked, staring at her best friend in shock, feeling as if she were speaking to a complete stranger. Hermione glanced at her, and looked down as she obsessively the floor around her. “That can’t have been easy! And I’m not just talking about the magic behind it.”
“With everything else that’s been going on? Besides, Ron and that friend of his made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you about it – they thought it might give you some grand ideas the next time your mum gets too frightened and tries to pull you out of school,” Hermione said with a wry smile. Ginny felt a flush of anger; ever since Ron had met his newest friend, he’d grown rather secretive and bossy, always telling her what to do without telling her why. He and that Potter boy had formed some kind of secretive clique, and now they were dragging her friend into it.
“I see. It was alright for Ron and Harry to know about this – let me guess, they probably helped you cook up the whole plan too, didn’t they? I knew it was a mistake to bring you to the Burrow last summer, when I knew Harry was going to be there,” Ginny said, petulantly stomping her foot in anger. Hermione shook her head at Ginny in exasperation and turned away, walking to the other side of the dining room to check on the tables in the further corner. “What, are you just going to walk away?”
“Until you stop acting like a jealous twit? Yes, I am going to walk away. Ginny Weasley, you keep a great deal of secrets from me, but I’m not allowed to have any of my own?” Hermione demanded in a scolding tone of voice.
“I trust you. You’re one of the only people I trust in the entire world, besides my family. I never guessed that trust didn’t extend both ways, that’s all,” Ginny said softly. Hermione stared at her, her brown eyes shining in the dim light of the restaurant’s lamps, and she looked as if she were about to say something. Feeling edgy and raw, Ginny glanced around her, surveying if there was any more work that needed to be done, desperate to escape before she said anything to damage the only friendship that truly mattered to her. “Well, it looks as if everything’s in order here. I’ve got more homework than I can even keep track of right now, so I’ll be off.”
She was in such a hurry to get away from the site of the argument that she didn’t even pause to put on a coat before rushing out into the cold air, she just grabbed it from the back and dashed out the door. Which caused her to nearly crashed into the two masked Death Eaters loitering by the entrance.
In order to avoid colliding head on into the taller of the two, she stopped short and her shoes slid in the freshly fallen snow, causing her to emit a little squeal of surprise. The Death Eaters, who had been previously absorbed in their conversation, both turned to see the teenage girl struggling to regain her composure and shrug herself into her coat as the frigid air slammed into her, causing her to immediately start shivering – but not just from the cold.
“Is there a problem?” the one closest to her demanded brusquely. Ginny’s only thought was that her Muggle-born best friend was still inside, and would be wandering unknowingly into the company of two Death Eaters alone – never a safe thing to do, even if she had all her permits in order, but especially now, with an ongoing manhunt for an escaped convict that had everyone suspicious and nervous.
“Of course not, I just didn’t see you there in the dark,” she answered brightly, forcing herself to be cheerful and polite.
“You’re Weasley’s daughter, aren’t you?” the other Death Eater said, more of an accusatory statement than a question. Even behind their masks, Ginny could see a pointed look passing between the two men, and her heart starting beating a bit faster as the fear she hadn’t yet felt finally kicked in. They closed in on her, cutting off her path to the sidewalk.
“Seen anything suspicious around here? I’m sure you have heard about the man who escaped from Azkaban a few weeks back. Haven’t seen anything worth mentioning, now have you, girl?”
Looking up into their masked faces, the frustration that Ginny felt was the most terrifying thing about her situation. She couldn’t even see their faces. They thought they were powerful and important, as if the entire world should jump on their demand, and they wouldn’t even show their faces to the world. As her thoughts processed, she knew what answer she had to give, but the answer she wanted to give was the one that slipped out, before her better senses could grab hold of it.
“Of course not. Had I seen anything worth mentioning, I would surely have mentioned it. To the proper authorities, that is,” she said, not even trying to keep the contempt out of her voice. The Death Eater to her left reached out, gripping her elbow, squeezing it uncomfortably as he picked up on the defiance in her voice.
“You’d better take care, little girl. We know all about you and all about your family,” he said, his voice hypnotically soft and menacing. Ginny glared up at him, forcing herself to remain calm – and silent. He leaned closer, the grip on her arm becoming tighter, causing her to try to squirm free of his hold on her.
“More importantly, we know just how far away the rest of the wretched pack of mongrels they have the nerve to call purebloods live,” he continued. “A young girl like you, all alone in such a big city… you’d better take care. You might find that the streets are quite dangerous after dark – particularly on the route between this restaurant and the flat above the sweet shop.”
Ginny stared at them, unable to speak, not even to conjure a biting and sarcastic remark. Her mind was spinning – they knew where she lived. But the question was, why would they care? She was insignificant. Fodder enough for their children to torture during their moments of boredom at school, but hardly important enough for actual Death Eaters to go out of their way to terrify.
“Now then, girl, have you seen anything suspicious these past few weeks that you feel you should report to the authorities?” the other one asked as the painful grip on her arm was released.
“Nothing suspicious, no,” she answered deferentially, her voice even as she tried to keep the panic out of it.
“And if you do see anything…” the one with the soft, hypnotic voice prompted her.
“I’ll be sure to report it right away,” she parroted, gaining a slow nod of approval. Another look passed between the hooded men, and they seemed ready to depart.
“Very well. Mind yourself out in the streets this late at night – Hogsmeade isn’t as safe as we’d all like to believe,” the taller one said pointedly, as they turned and started walking away. As soon as their backs were to her, she was crouching down in the snow, her fear weighing on her so heavily that she wasn’t sure how much longer her knees would have been able to support her. She took a few deep breaths, trying to expel her panic and calm herself down, and covered her face with her shaking hands, unsure of what to do next. She tried to convince herself to stand, to go back into the restaurant, to tell Hermione everything and beg her to go home to her parents – or the Burrow, at least, where she’d be safer than out here on her own, but she couldn’t conjure up the energy to move.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, crouched in the snow with her jacket only half on and her legs freezing from the poor protection the skirt of her work uniform provided. But it was long enough that she nearly tumbled over when someone approached the restaurant entrance, as she realized their presence and tried to jump up, only to realize that her legs had fallen asleep. As she tripped over herself, a pair of arms reached out and caught her, pulling her up and supporting her as her legs regained their feeling.
“This is the Friday night plans that you’ve snubbed me and my exclusive group of friends for?” Malfoy asked skeptically, bending his knees to meet her at eye level as his warm hands held her steady at her waist. Her teeth were chattering from the cold, and she clumsily tried to explain to him that she was just waiting for her friend to finish closing up the restaurant. He watched her as she rambled, one eyebrow crooked in amusement, while his clever hands straightened out her coat, slipping her other arm in, pulling it closed and buttoning it for her as she tried to bat his ministrations aside.
“Well, it hardly matters. Are you ready, then? It’s always noted when a Malfoy leaves a social gathering – if I’m not back soon, they’ll assume the party is to blame and it’ll all be over before I get back,” Malfoy said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. She planted her feet and refused to move.
“No!” she cried emphatically, ignoring the surprised look on his face. She yanked her hand away from him and crossed her arms defiantly. “I have to wait for Hermione to finish – we always walk home together when it’s this late. I can’t leave her alone, the streets aren’t very safe.”
Malfoy was staring at her, in that quiet, piercing way of his that was so discomforting because it felt as if he could see right through her and all the secrets she had. Her own words, so similar to those of the barely veiled threats the Death Eaters had made, caused her to shiver involuntarily, remembering how frightening they’d been. She stared back at Malfoy, but couldn’t meet his eyes, not when she was feeling so vulnerable and he was staring at her in that knowing way. She settled for a point just above his shoulder, and hoped he didn’t notice.
He sighed dramatically, a deep sigh that communicated an amused exasperation. It was so unexpected that Ginny glanced at him, perplexed, the cold fear that had been gripping her for so long easing slightly as his prolonged sigh reminded him of Pansy Parkinson about to answer a question in class while attempting to portray an aura of someone who was just indulging the professor.
“Why didn’t you just say so? We’ll drop her at her flat on our way through,” he said, indulgently. “You didn’t have to make such a big fuss, you know. We are friends, after all. Friends help out friends of their friends with little favours now and then, or at least that’s what I’m told.”
“Malfoy, I don’t think Hermione would be particularly amenable to accepting such a favour from the likes of you,” she said.
“The likes of me?” he questioned, frowning, clearly irritated.
“She means someone who, if they had their way, would see to it that I was never allowed to even touch a wand, let alone live among decent wizards and contaminate their villages with my non-magical DNA,” Hermione said.
“You’re a Mudblood?” Malfoy asked, clearly surprised. Ginny jabbed him with her elbow, glaring at him with her eyes blazing, and he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Right, forgot you’re of the type whose brains completely implode at the merest whisper of any phrase that contains a trace of something considered not completely politically correct.”
“You’re speaking about my best friend and since you seem so determined for the two of us to be friends, it would only be natural to expect you not to resort to calling her filthy and derogatory names when she’s twenty times as clever as you and could probably curse you back into Grindelwald’s time if she feels you’re not giving her the proper amount of respect – not that she would, of course, but it should be enough to know that she could,” Ginny said huffily. Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Ginny continued before he could get a word in. “And don’t even try to say that everyone else says it, or I will be the one cursing you.”
“Well, now that you’ve made your feelings on this particular subject rather well known, why don’t we get going? Its freezing out here, and I’m sure your friend has much better things to do than stand around and listen to you threaten me all night,” Malfoy said, his voice rough with sarcasm as he grabbed Ginny’s hand and pulled her towards his waiting carriage. “You too, Muggle!”
Hermione watched, perplexed as Ginny yanked her hand away from him and kicked his shin.
“What was that for?” Malfoy raged.
“Her name is Hermione, not Muggle!” Ginny shouted, indignantly. Hermione rushed forward, as Malfoy’s face was bright red and he looked ready to pull out his own wand and begin cursing the difficult redheaded creature standing in front of him with her arms crossed, ready to do battle.
“But she is a Muggle, is she not?” Malfoy asked, incredulous. Couldn’t the stroppy little brat recognize that he had, at least, made an effort for her?
“Technically, I’m a Muggle-born witch, not a Muggle. Bloody hell, it’s freezing! And late! I have an essay to finish up for tomorrow. Let’s get going, shall we?” Hermione interjected, taking pity on the two stubborn and furious idiots squaring off in front of her. She brushed past the both of them, into the waiting carriage.
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Ginny was fairly certain that she should have conducted a bit of research into what life is like as one of Malfoy’s “friends” before she had agreed to become one. Because as far as she could tell, for her, it would be a matter of hanging around and being either completely bored or treated like some poor, clueless unfortunate who didn’t know how to behave in society. At least, that’s what she could assume, based on that night’s party.
After she and Malfoy had burst into the packed VIP lounge of All Hallows, there had been a veritable pause as everyone turned to witness the return of one of the event’s main attractions. Without Malfoy to fawn over, the single girls had had to settle for other Slytherins who weren’t quite as rich, popular or powerful, and that had them all a little uptight by the time Ginny and Malfoy appeared.
Ginny could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on her, and glancing quickly around the room, she was relieved that she hadn’t yet taken off her coat. Judging by the fashionable ensembles the girls were wearing, she doubted that her worn and comfortable white blouse and black skirt would make the grade. But Malfoy had been too eager to get back and there wasn’t time for her to stop at home and change. Not that it would have made any difference, Ginny surmised wryly to herself, as it was highly unlikely that she had any clothes they would approve of.
“Ahh, complete disdain! Adds a certain atmosphere to social gatherings, doesn’t it?” Ginny said, casting a mischievous glance up at Malfoy, who was glaring back at his friends, as if the force of his temper alone would make them all look away.
“We Slytherin much prefer open hostility,” Crabbe drawled, coming up behind her.
“Well, in this case, I think we have both,” she said, faking a bright smile as Goyle also joined them. Her attempts to carry on as if there was nothing amiss, even though they were being gawked at, only seemed to enrage them further. Ginny spotted Pansy Parkinson in the far corner, surrounded by a new batch of assumingly brainless followers, and it did warm Ginny’s heart to see that she was practically gnashing her teeth, watching Ginny banter with the Slytherins. She tossed her head, determined to not let them intimidate her into having a terrible night, especially when she didn’t really even want to be there. “I have no idea why your social gatherings are so popular. No one looks as if they are having a good time at all.”
“They don’t matter – we’re the ones that have the good time,” Crabbe said with a knowing looking, before eyeing a tall blonde hovering by the bar, clearly trying to catch his attention. “Can I get anyone a drink?”
“My usual. And nothing alcoholic for this one,” Malfoy said, tugging the end of Ginny’s braid. “Weasels can’t hold their liquor.”
Ginny swatted his hand away, glaring at him playfully. Their interchange hadn’t gone unnoticed by the crowd, but everyone had at least started to try hiding the fact that they were all watching them. Ginny tried to ignore how ridiculously expensive everyone’s designer apparel was, because the thought of what one of Millicent Bullstrode’s earrings could buy would make her ill. So caught up in her efforts and the constant distraction that was Draco Malfoy hovering around behind her, she barely noticed the commotion on the couch by the glassed-in wall, which had started to pull the focus in the room away from her. But after catching a few pointed looks around the room in that direction, she finally glanced that way, and froze in horror at what she saw.
It was Blaise Zabini – her quiet, introverted, nice Blaise Zabini – fully making out with some brunette Ginny didn’t recognize from school. Watching the spectacle, Ginny felt as if she’d been hit by lightning. After all, hadn’t he gone after Cho? The romantic hero in that particular tale couldn’t be a cheat, it just couldn’t be right, Ginny thought vehemently.
Malfoy, because there could never be something that he didn’t notice when it would otherwise be convenient for Ginny, picked up on her sudden tension.
“You’re far too magnificently stubborn to let this crowd intimidate you,” he whispered, leaning over her, obviously thinking that she was bothered by all the attention they’d garnered when Malfoy had reappeared with The Weasel. Feeling slightly nauseous, she struggled to shrug it off, promising herself that she’d corner Blaise alone later that night and grill him about what could have possibly come over him. She feverishly hoped that someone had cursed him into acting so strangely.
“Not at all intimidated,” Ginny shot back, her voice sounding weak and strangled as she forced it out. “Just wondering why on Earth these supposedly famous parties are supposed to be so fabulous as to warrant their exclusivity? As far as I can see, they must get rather dull after awhile.”
Malfoy gave her slanted look out, but even as she watched him out of the corner of her eyes, pretending to watch the crowd, she saw a faint half-smile cross his lips, as if he were smiling to himself, and she felt a flutter in her stomach that set her heart racing.
“Well, weasel, it’s not going to get any more exciting until you start lecturing us all on the errors of our ways and convincing us to reform our arrogant ways,” he said teasingly, turning towards her. “That will liven things up. Why else do you think that I brought you along?”
“Why else would you force me to come along?” Ginny admonished, still longing for her pajamas and the quiet of her room, especially now. She had to keep her eyes glue to Malfoy to keep herself from staring at Blaise’s antics over on the couch.
“I hardly had to force you – the strength of my inner charm was too much for you to handle. Your protestations never stood a chance against me,” he smirked, leaning over her. She glared up at him, Blaise all but forgotten as she tried to summon a witty retort while dealing with the storm of butterflies the look that Malfoy was giving her was conjuring in her stomach.
“I’m far too magnificently stubborn to be persuaded by your charm, my friend,” Ginny scoffed.
“Give me time,” he said, leaning in before she could protest or move away, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. She pushed him off, involuntarily throwing her head back and laughing.
“If we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to stop doing that,” Ginny said as she laughed at him as he indignantly tried to play off her rejection while the crowd in the room turned to stare at them. He then smiled at her, a slow, cocky smile that suddenly made Ginny feel as if she had just been backed into a corner. She stepped backwards, bumping into the edge of the bar, nearly jumping out of her skin as he moved in closer.
“You and I can never be friends,” he said, his voice low as he leaned over her. Her heart started to race, and while she longed to retort, the way he was looking down at her, so predatorily, seemed to have stolen her capacity for speech. “We can continue to pretend, weasel. If you want me to play along with this ridiculous experiment of yours, I’m willing. But only for so long. And I think you know why.”
“And why is that?” she asked stupidly, fighting between panic and desire as he placed his hands on the bar on either side of her, essentially trapping her. He smiled again, a slow, cock-sure smile.
“There’s too much passion, too much energy between us. We’re either going to be a pair of passionate lovers, the kind of they write epic stories about, or we’re going to be mortal enemies, consumed only with the thought of destroying each other for the rest of our lives. Often, we’ll probably both at the same time. But we’re never going to be just friends, and I can only hope that you’ll realize the truth of that sooner rather than later,” he said, his voice enchantingly soothing as he lifted a hand to brush the strand of hair that had fallen out of her braid aside. She was staring straight into his eyes, and as the reality of what he’d said sank in, the crushing weight of panic that only ever accompanied an attack of her claustrophobia overwhelmed her. She just nodded weakly, before twisting out of his reach.
As she dashed away, she could feel his eyes on her. She turned once, and saw him leaning casually against the bar, watching her with confident, carefree smile on his face, and in that instant, she did hate him – for how could he be so relaxed and confident when just the thought of what he’d said, let alone whether or not it was an accurate diagnosis of their relationship, had her running for the nearest wide-open space before she hyperventilated?
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She didn’t have a chance to get very far. She’d made the mistake of cutting across the dance floor, which had become rather crowded as the music had started playing. Trying to push her way through the groups of gyrating girls and the boys standing, just aside, watching them and working up to the moment when they’d make their moves, Crabbe and Goyle had spotted her. Grabbing her quickly and trying to charm her with their smiles, they pulled her into their circle on the dance floor, pleading with her to dance with them. She tried to shrug them off, but they were rather insistent. She could still feel Malfoy’s eyes on her, and even as disconcerting as that was, what upset her more was that he could possibly be leaning ever so casually against that bar, smirking to himself that he had the power to frazzle her so much. So, she stood still for a moment, picturing him (for she didn’t dare look over her shoulder to see whether or not he was watching), and after a second’s consideration, she decided to join in.
Crabbe and Goyle, who concentrated so vigorously on projecting their suave and worldly aura, seemed to relax with Ginny, who decided that if she was going to dance, then she was going to dance. Which meant that she had to push all the snotty Slytherin girls, all silently competing with each other over who had the best moves, the best looks, the best features in order to attract the ever-sought-after attention of one of the senior Slytherin boys, out of the way. Knowing inherently that Crabbe and Goyle were really just two ridiculous boys who loved to goof around and laugh as much as the next boy, Ginny stepped up her game and decided to be as ridiculously silly as she would be with Hermione when the two girls were alone in the Three Broomsticks, dancing around the dining room as when they closed. They stared at her for a moment, as they if they were trying to decide whether or not she had lost her mind, but then jumped right in.
Despite herself, Ginny found herself having a great time – with every outrageous move she tried, intent only on making her two companions laugh, they would pull out something equally outrageous, making her throw her head back and howl with laughter. Before long, she was sweating and smiling, feeling very loose and almost elated. Malfoy’s best friends, who she’d never really understood before, were showing her a very good time, and in the process, all the cookie-cutter girls who were hovering around them were growing more and more upset with the situation, as they were continually ignored for the plain, ordinary Weasley girl, acting a fool and laughing about it, deliciously unaware – or uncaring – how irritating they found her.
Ginny was shouting to Crabbe that he’d better turn around and see the dismal expression on his date’s face, as she stood just behind their huddle on the dance floor, standing with her arms crossed and glowering at Ginny, when the touch of someone’s hands on her hips caused her to jump up, her heart hammering in her chest as he mind immediately jumped to Malfoy. As she turned around to see who it was, she was surprised to see it was Blaise Zabini, smiling down at her with his handsome face and warm eyes. He mouthed something to her, but Ginny couldn’t make it out over the throbbing din of the club music, and finally, he just gestured towards the doors to the balcony, and pulled her along with him.
Ginny gasped in the fresh, cold air as soon as it touched her heated skin as they stepped outside. Her ears were ringing from the music, and she felt so hot from the dance floor that she almost expected steam to be rising off of her limbs.
“Oh, it’s lovely out here,” she said with a happy sigh. She leaned against the balcony’s railing, and tried not to remember the last time she’d been on there, the night she’d accidentally overhead Blaise and Cho discussing her, and whether or not Blaise was interested in her.
“Nice and quiet,” Blaise said, in that quiet voice of his that set Ginny’s heart racing. She tried to shrug it off, recalling the horrible scene of him and that random girl snogging on the couch just an hour ago, but as he leaned down beside her, she couldn’t help it. After all, this was Blaise Zabini, the very first Slytherin to ever come to her rescue.
“I can hardly hear a thing, my ears are still ringing from the loud music,” Ginny said with a giggle. It had been a long time since she’d had that much fun. He turned and smiled at her, and Ginny had to look away before she started blushing. Oh, what a powerful smile that one had!
“How have you been, Weasley? I haven’t had a chance to properly say hello to you,” he said.
“No, I don’t supposed you have. Malfoy’s been keeping you rather occupied – like a puppy whose been left alone for a few hours, desperate for attention,” Ginny said, biting back a smile as she thought of how exuberant Malfoy could be when it came to his friends and the things that made him happy. The more time she spent around him, and the less she came to despise him, the more she realized that he was almost two people – the snide, arrogant, ruthless cold-hearted bastard who ruled Hogwarts with an iron fist and raging temper, but also a delightful little boy who was easily enchanted and excitable about the things that he cared about. He’d been almost jovial all week, rushing to and from classes with his group of friends whole again, skiving off to run into town or take over the Quidditch pitch. Ginny had hardly seen them at all, and knew only of their exploits from the whispered gossip in the halls.
“It’s hard for him when all four of us aren’t around,” Blaise said thoughtfully. Ginny leaned closer, wanting to press him about why that was, but at the same time, she really didn’t want to seem interested in Malfoy, especially not in front of Blaise. “Especially if Tonks is also in London. He takes that pretty hard.”
“Why is that?” Ginny asked, unable to help herself.
“Because we’re all he has. With his parents away in London all the time – they have been ever since he was little – we’re more like his real family. He hates to be alone, in that grand old coffin of a house he lives in. Even with the four of us there, it still feels incredibly empty,” Blaise said. Ginny ignored the stab in her chest at this new revelation, not wanting to acknowledge that she and Malfoy may carry similar burdens.
“What’s brought you back to Hogsmeade? I imagined you’d be off with Cho on their training tour, somewhere in Europe,” Ginny exclaimed, eagerly changing the subject, and unable to conjure anything other than the burning question that had been on her mind since his dramatic reappearance at Hogwarts. Blaise was silent for a moment, and he gave a great sigh.
“I was getting in her way. I just wanted to be with her, for her to be happy, but I was causing her nothing but trouble. So I came back here,” he said, his voice so low, Ginny could barely hear him over the throbbing music inside. Despite that, Ginny could hear the pain in his voice, and cursed herself for asking something so foolish.
But at least it was a reason why she’d seen him recklessly snogging with some girl he couldn’t possibly know very well. Her romantic hero was nursing a broken heart, and for now, if he needed to repair it with meaningless flings with meaningless girls, she could forgive him his imperfection and hope that it wouldn’t last too long.
“A rather lot has happened since you left! Insanity, really, if you stop and think about it. An elaborate plot, a raving lunatic, a kidnapping and a bout of torture later, and Malfoy and I suddenly decide to call a truce and try to be friends,” Ginny said, desperate to change the subject, and take that melancholy look of his face.
“Now that is rather impossible to believe. I’ve heard the story in bits and pieces, but I’ll have to get you tell me the rest of it someday soon. Otherwise, it’s just too hard to fathom. You and Malfoy. Friends,” he said, feigning shock.
“You’re friends with him, you must know what he’s like. An offer of friendship to him ought to come with a warning label,” Ginny cried, her frustrations with him from earlier in the night coming to a head once again.
“Well, he’s particularly Malfoy-ish when it comes to you, Weasley,” Blaise said with a laugh as Ginny sputtered his objections. “Oh come on, you know exactly how to push his buttons, and you must enjoy doing it. You were the first person to stand up to him.”
“The first person foolish enough to stand up to him,” she said wryly. “And now look where it’s landed me.”
“It was quite wonderful to watch. No one but Tonks can put him in his place like that,” he said with a laugh. They settled back into a companionable silence, staring off in the night as the beat of the music inside throbbed against the silence. Ginny was starting to feel the cold, so far from the heat of the dance floor and standing in her blouse and skirt. She considered going back inside, to claim her coat and inform Malfoy that she was leaving, but she wasn’t quite ready to break the spell of that moment, in Blaise Zabini’s calm and reassuring presence. She felt like she had an ally, someone who understood Malfoy and what she was up against when dealing with him.
“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out so well, Blaise Zabini, but I am glad you’re back. We all missed you around here,” she said softly, and was rewarded with a warm smile from him. He turned towards her at her words, placing his hand atop hers, which were resting on the railing.
“Some more than others, I hope,” he said, his eyes glinting strangely. Ginny froze, unsure what to make of that comment. He leaned in a bit closer, looking as if he wanted to whisper something in her ear, but whatever it was he was going to say, Ginny would never find out.
Because Draco Bloody Malfoy, with his impeccable talent for catching Ginny unaware, burst through the doors to the balcony, startling them both with the sudden interruption. Ginny jumped slightly, remembering what Malfoy’s jealousy could do, but Blaise acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, his hand still resting warmly on hers as he stood close by.
“Don’t mean to interrupt this rather cozy-looking tête-à-tête,” Malfoy said, his tone cold and his face stony. “Are you ready to call it a night? I’d like to get the weasel home before she turns into a pumpkin.”
“Seems yet another night of playing Cinderella has come to an end. Reality beckons,” she said uneasily, hoping her weak attempt at a joke would break the strained atmosphere between the three of them.
“Come along, little weasel. Your coat is inside, you must be freezing,” Malfoy said, and Ginny wanted to cringe away from his hard look as he spoke. It had none of the gentle amusement she’d experience earlier that night when he’d found her crouched in the snow.
“Part of your new duties as her friend?” Blaise asked, his tone even yet slightly hard.
“The girl has developed a talent for disaster – and it’s a dangerous world out there for little weasels,” Malfoy answered slowly. Ginny frowned as she watched this interchange, and couldn’t help but feel as there was a deeper subtext to their words than she could decipher.
“I hardly need you to hold my hand while I cross the street and make sure that I reach my flat. I’ve been on my own for a while now, and it’s only since I’ve met you that I’ve started running into trouble,” Ginny cried out, irritated with Malfoy’s tendency to treat her like a child. She sighed in exasperation, and marched away from both boys, pushing past Malfoy on her way back into the club.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she thought she heard Malfoy mumble as she passed by.
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She had looked so fragile. That had been his first impression of her that night, when he met her as she was shivering in the snow, her coat splayed around her. There had been a brittleness in her eyes, as if it would take just a touch of pressure before she would break.
He hated to see her like that.
So he’d tried, all night, to make her angry, to get her flustered, to irritate her, to get her to argue with him. Anything to bring back the courageous defiance she always wore like a shield about her, because it always brought the fire back into her eyes. Well, also because it was just so entertaining to see her when she was angry, if he were to be completely honest.
But nothing had worked. She’d scattered away from him the first chance she got, like a skittish animal unsure if it was wandering into a trap, instead of rising to the challenge and contradicting what he had said. But watching her on the dance floor, surrounded by the safety of his two best friends, he’d seen whatever it was that was haunting her melt away and she’d let go, allowing herself to have a good time.
He tried not to hate Crabbe and Goyle for it. He tried even harder not to grab Blaise, violently shove him against the wall and demand to know what the two of them had been giggling about together, on their own, for almost half an hour, and demand that he stay at least ten feet away from her at all times.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said, standing just outside the entrance to her flat.
“I hardly had a choice in the matter, did I?” she asked sarcastically. She’d barely spoken to him since they left the club. “You really don’t have to walk me to my door, Malfoy. I am rather capable of walking five feet without stumbling across trouble.”
“Perhaps, but why take that chance?” he smiled. She turned to him, clearly exasperated, and planted her feet while crossing her arms and staring up at him defiantly.
“That’s it, Malfoy. That. Is. It. I refuse to act like any of your other ‘friends’ who jump up to obey your every command. You don’t have that kind of control over me, and I’m bloody well tired of you barking orders at me. So I am going to stand here, like the stubborn little weasel you claim that I am, until you march your refined and spoiled arse back into your carriage and leave me to walk up to my door in peace.”
“Weasley, I’m attempting to be a gentleman here,” Malfoy protested. “Surely you can’t fault me for behaving as I’ve been taught since I was old enough to understand there was a difference between girls and boys.”
“Now, if I let you off with that excuse, what’s to stop you from using it again? How am I to know what despicable things you’ve been taught from birth? Your horrible manners with Hermione is a perfectly good illustration proving that I should be very wary of that claim.”
“I gave the girl a ride home, didn’t I?” he growled, irritated. He stared at her, hoping to menace her into compliance. She stared right back at him, defiant as ever. If he hadn’t been so irritated, he would have been pleased to see it. But of course, trust the Weasley girl to have the worst timing possible to regain the defiance that he normally found both attractive and irritating, in equal amounts.
“Just be sensible, and let me walk myself the remaining four steps to my door, all on my own,” she demanded. Oh, how he appreciated how very different she was from all the cookie-cutter Slytherin girls who populated his life. They, at this point in the conversation, would have started to attempt to charm him into compliance, batting their eyelashes, breaking out some irritating pet-name for him, start using a simpering tone of voice that was so very irritating, it took a great deal of discipline to remember that he had been taught a certain degree of decorum – and that it was considered rather brutish to curse an unarmed girl for being a nitwit had been chief among those lessons. But Weasley, she had no time for such foolish nonsense – it would never even cross her mind as a possible strategy to bend him to her will. She would try to reason with him, argue with him, threaten him, stand up and cause such a nuisance that he would have to give in just to make her stop.
As her eyes sparkled defiantly at him in the darkness of the cold winter night, he was struck by how exhilarating it was, arguing with her about something ridiculous and mundane as whether or not he was allowed to escort her to her door.
“Perhaps we can negotiate a compromise,” he said, his resolve softened in that moment of weakness. “I’ll stand here and watch you walk yourself to your door, and stand here until you light a candle in your flat.”
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she considered his (incredibly generous, in his opinion) offer.
“It’s either that, weasel, or I’m going to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder and march you up to your room, with you kicking and screaming, if necessary,” he growled after she considered it for a second too long.
“Fine. I suppose that will be about as good an agreement as we’re going to reach tonight,” she finally agreed, and after he had grunted his acknowledgement, he caught a sly smile she was trying to hide, and instantly knew that she had won that round. “Listen Malfoy, thank you for dragging me out with you tonight, even though I seriously thought I wanted to be anywhere else in the world then at that party. I actually ended up having a fairly nice time.”
“Good. There’ll be another event next week you’ll have to clear your schedule for,” he said, remembering the half-baked plans he and Goyle had discussed that afternoon involving a villa in the south of France.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said, trying to admonish him. But the hour was late, and he could tell she was exhausted, and the half-hearted attempt at protest was brushed aside.
“Goodnight, now, little weasel. Run along inside, and don’t forget to light that candle,” he said softly, wanting to end the evening on a high note. She smile sweetly at him, and after digging out her keys, she walked the five steps to her door, and went inside.
He waited outside, his breath sending out puffs of steam in the cold air, for a minute until finally he saw light fill the top window and her slim silhouette pass by, waving once. He smiled, pleased that she had kept to their agreement. After her form disappeared from the window, his smile faded as quickly as it had come.
“I know you’re there,” he said, his voice deadly soft. He looked beyond the entrance to Weasley’s building, further down the darkened alley way, and could see them standing there, trying to crouch in the shadows. In their dark robes and hoods, they were almost imperceptible. To almost anyone, but for Draco, who had grown up in their ranks, who could recognize all but the very newest of their order even while in their full regalia, they were fully visible. He’d seen them earlier that night, as he’d arrived at the Three Broomsticks to pick up Weasley.
The two forms walked forward, their boots crunching in the snow. They stood in front of him, their embarrassment at being caught making their bold and defiant as Malfoy stared them down, allowing his rage to build as his mind spun out the different scenarios and reasons that would have had them stalking the Weasley girl.
“If I ever catch either of you – or any other of your friends or coworkers – hovering around that girl again, it will be the very last, entirely foolish, thing you will do,” he said coldly. “I don’t care who sent you, and I don’t care why you’ve been following her. It ends right now.”
“You can warn us off all you like – about ready to give up this assignment anyway. Scaring little girls in the dark isn’t really what we signed up for. But there are others,” one said, his thick accent giving away his identity. He was too inept to even attempt to disguise himself, Draco noted with disgust. “Others who aren’t going to care, not with the amount of Galleons being offered. And they’re not going to care what a kid like you thinks about it, either.”
“I’ll say it one more time – if you even look at her again, it will be the last thing you do,” he said, his tone ice cold. The two Death Eaters standing in front of him glanced at each other uncertainly, but then the one who had spoken nodded his understanding. Without waiting for them to slip away in the shadows again, Draco turned and marched back to his waiting carriage, making sure that the door snapped shut enough to emphasize his statement.
As it rolled away, headed back to the Malfoy home, his mind started to run through a list of names, sorting out who would have enough influence, money and resources to assign two mid-tier Death Eaters to stalk Ginny Weasley.
He didn’t like the two names, the only two who fit the criteria, that he came up with.
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She started hiding in the library during lunch or any free time she had between classes. It was rather beneficial to her grades, as it gave her ample opportunity for catching up on homework and poring over her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook (but mostly because every time she succeeded in answering a question correctly in his class, Snape would glower darkly at her – an incredibly satisfying reward for all her hard work). While the improvement in her grades was definitely a benefit, it wasn’t the reason she was hiding out there, at the dusty little desk hidden at the back of the stacks.
Oh no, the real reason? Had everything to do with Draco Malfoy and his newly returned best friend. She didn’t feel it was quite right for her to continue to stare longingly at Blaise Zabini with Draco Malfoy still insisting on acting as if he were her boyfriend. Any time she spoke to Blaise, she could see Malfoy positively glaring at her, as if she were betraying him, and he had any right to feel betrayed. Of course, it didn’t help matters at all that every time Malfoy stared at her, her heart started pounding as she remembered what he’d said to her that night at the party, and after her heart started to pound, she’d get all nervous and skittish, and bloody Malfoy would get that bloody self-satisfied grin on his face, because there was nothing he loved more than a demonstration of his power to affect her.
So, she was avoiding him. And his best friend. Other than a few chance encounters in the hallway, which she’d managed to extricate herself from rather quickly and deftly, she’d barely seen the lot of them in almost a week. While her schoolwork had certainly improved, her ability to concentrate had not. Ginny would catch herself staring out whatever window was closest or losing herself in her thoughts as she flew on her broomstick to school, often getting so off course, she’d have to run to make it to her first class on time.
Looking down at her parchment paper, she sighed heavily. It was now covered with a number of inky, Quidditch-related doodles and not a lot of Potions-related notes had appeared since she’d sat down. She had, assumingly, been staring out the window for the majority of the period; the flurry of snowflakes dancing around a rare sunny sky had been impossible to resist. Between her troubles with Draco Malfoy, the sudden reappearance of Blaise Zabini and her know-it-all best friend’s musings on both subjects and, in particular, how Ginny felt about them, she felt as if it were perfectly within reason to indulge in a few hours’ daydreaming.
She was so deep in thought, justifying the large amount of precious study-time she was devoting to staring blankly out of windows, she nearly screamed as the very cause of her inability to focus sat himself down at her table and yanked the piece of parchment on which she’d been trying to write a Potions essay out from under her fingertips.
“You have been passing up the opportunity to spend time with me and my exclusive group of friends for this?” he snorted, half-amused, half-disgusted, holding out her be-doodled essay. She tried to snatch it away, but with his longer arms, he easily held it out just out of reach.
“You bursting in here certainly isn’t helping my level of concentration,” she grumbled defensively, her face burning as he made a large show of examining her doodles. She refused to meet his eyes and acknowledge the grin he was giving her, unwilling to be charmed by him.
“Now, I’ve been fairly patient here, weasel, with your recent absences among my group of friends, believing your claims of being too busy with schoolwork and insistence that you must maintain a specific level of academic performance in consideration of your scholarship, but after seeing this demonstration of your commitment to academia,” he said, waving her drawing derisively, “I believe one could only conclude that you are only using that as an excuse to avoid me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. In order to be avoiding you, it would have to be common for me to spend my free time during school hours with you and your group of spoiled, obnoxious hooligans, but that’s hardly the case, now isn’t it?” she asked, finally retrieving her parchment. Before she’d succumbed to a bout of daydreaming, she’d actually managed to make some good notes for her essay. “Just because I haven’t altered my usual habits to include spending time with you and your friends hardly constitutes avoiding you.”
He slid his chair in closer to her, trapping her against the wall. Smiling with a mischievous glint that both made her heart beat a little bit faster and sent a shiver of fear down her spine, he leaned in.
“Now, do be a bit friendlier, weasel, or you won’t be getting your surprise,” he said.
“I don’t like surprises,” she said, gritting her teeth. She hated having him so close to her, particularly when he reached out and resting his hand over hers, lightly stroking her fingers as he grinned that stupid boyish grin of his. It made her feel so many things she desperately didn’t want to be feeling, especially not from him.
“No, I don’t imagine you would. You hardly seem the type to enjoy fun, after all. However, in the name of our friendship, as you annoyingly insist on terming our relationship, I challenge you to suck it up and indulge me for a moment,” he said, his eyes dancing with excitement. “Now close your eyes.”
Ginny obliged his request, as it would violate her very nature to turn down a challenge – particularly from him, although she did so with a long, drawn-out sigh. She heard him rummaging around in his bag, and could sense that he had placed something down in front of her. When he instructed, she opened her eyes again, and was a bit perplexed by what she saw.
Lying on the table in front of her was an incredibly elaborate mask – the kind that rich ladies would wear to extravagant Halloween balls. It was decorated by an amazing array of colours, encrusted with diamonds and gold trim, spreading out to form the shape of gold-tipped butterfly wings. Looking up at Malfoy questioningly, her fingers poised over it, she found she couldn’t even speak. The desire to reach out and touch the mask was incredibly strong; she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen something so amazing before and she longed to pick it up, try it on and run off to find Hermione so the two girls could examine its loveliness properly.
“What’s this all about?” Ginny asked instead, because it was Malfoy sitting beside her and she didn’t want him to see her so excited by something he had given her.
“It’s an invitation, of course. Haven’t you even been invited to a masquerade ball before?” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing. He plucked the mask out from under her trembling finger tips and held it up to her face. The swath of glittering tulle hanging in ribbons from the side was, it soon became apparent, spelled – it started tying itself around her head. “We hold one every year for Halloween. It’s an incredibly exclusive party, and only those with proper invitations can gain entrance.”
“Then why are you inviting me?” she muttered, heartsick with dread over the very thought of it. Her last attempt at socializing with the elite at a similar event – Cho’s party – had not ended very well, and with the rash of strange incidents occurring around town (not to mention her own run-in with the Death Eaters), she wasn’t sure it would be wise to risk another. Malfoy, to his credit, ignored her comment, concentrating instead on supervising the mask that had tied itself securely around her head.
“There now. That’s perfect,” he announced decisively, staring intently at Ginny. She looked away, unable to face that look of childish wonder in his eyes – it was becoming painfully obvious that Halloween must be his favorite holiday, for he was positively acting like a small child about his proposed costume for her. She reached behind and tugged at the tulle, pulling the mask from her face. She turned it over to examine it.
“A butterfly? You see me as a butterfly?” she asked with disdain. Malfoy nodded, thoughtfully.
“Yes. Unique and elusive,” he said slowly as he leaned in closer, his voice soft and seductive, his gray eyes fixed directly on hers in a way that made almost squirm with the desire to throw her arms around him and snog him senseless. When she realized he was only a breadth away, she jumped, smashing her elbow against the wall, causing her to curse loudly.
“Extremely jittery,” he said with a long suffering sigh.
“I don’t know if I can make it to your party – sorry, masquerade ball,” she corrected herself even as Malfoy looked as if he were going to interrupt her. “Halloween is usually the busiest night of the year at the restaurant, and if Rosmerta has booked a private party in the Merlin Room, then there will be no way I’ll be able to break free.”
“Oh, silly child, you can’t refuse an invitation to this kind of event. Believe me, Rosmerta herself will march you down to my house, no matter how busy her restaurant may be on that night. And that mask is special – I’ll be able to see that it’s you, regardless of what costume you come in or how large the sea of other disguises. You’ll be the only one with anything like it,” he said, trying to entice her.
“I can’t say yes right away, Malfoy. I’ll have to see,” she said quietly, touched by how much he seemed to want her to come. He stared at her, boyish grin instantly gone and replaced with a cold look indicating that he was not at all happy with her response.
“Remember, weasel, butterflies are elusive. You pass up your chance to catch one, you may never get a second one,” he snapped, pulling the mask out of her hands. He stood up, appearing ready to storm away, but he paused a few steps away and turned. “Be careful, weasel. While you’re still trying to decide if you’re strong enough to keep hating me, I may decide to stop chasing you.”
After he left, Ginny stared down at her now half-crumpled sheet of parchment containing the fruits of her daydreaming and a few lucid notes that might eventually be useful when she wrote her paper. In a fit of emotion she would never be able to adequately describe, she shredded the paper to bits. Feeling completely unsatisfied as she observed the pathetic bits of parchment scattered across the table, she felt the need to just scream welling up inside of her, this incredible pressure that needed to be released before she lost her mind. After furiously gathering her books and shoving them into her bag, she fled the library and sought the only place where she could truly express herself when it came to Draco Malfoy. She ran down to the Quidditch pitch.
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A/N: Thanks for being patient. More to come sooner rather than later, I promise. But, hopefully a scene where Draco inadvertently compares himself to a butterfly was worth it?
From HYD: The demand that she meet him at a party (or, in my case, drags her to a party) where she sees his best friend making out with other people.
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