Standard disclaimer applies. Characters aren’t mine, they’re JKR’s, and the plot was inspired by Hana Yori Dango.
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Chapter Five: Stalemate
Draco Malfoy was right in the middle of pitching a serious temper tantrum, so much so that he was barely aware of the fact that three pairs of very amused eyes were watching as he paced around the room. Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise Zabini smiled to each other as their friend ranted furiously, arms flailing as his composure was completely sacrificed to his temper.
“Who does she think she it? Blasting all that crap about how I have no reason to act superior?” Draco raged, sitting down across from his friends, staring at them with a baffled expression, as if he just couldn’t process what Ginny had said. “What was all that nonsense about?”
“Mate, you were beat down by that short little girl. That’s a pretty good reason why you shouldn’t be acting too superior,” Crabbe laughed. Draco glared as his friends all joined in, mocking him.
“It’s a shame I missed it. I think I would have enjoyed seeing the mighty Draco Malfoy being put in his place by a lowly Weasley,” Blaise said, his low voice tinged with amusement.
“How dare she! If she thought it was bad for her before, she has another think coming. I’m going to be completely merciless. She hit me! She hit me!” he exclaimed. “And now she’s declared war on us? She is going to regret this for the rest of her life!”
“Hmm, you’re certainly reacting very strongly to this. Could it be fear motivating your anger?” Crabbe asked. “This is the first time you’ve ever been challenged, and by some dirt poor little Gryffindor! There has to be some voice in your head asking how can you possibly expect to take over your father’s empire if you can’t even control one stubborn girl?”
“Draco, you’d better calm down,” Blaise interjected, seeing the furious look in Draco’s eyes, and shooting Crabbe an exasperated glare. “We’ve got that reception tonight at Starlight Hotel, and you’re supposed to be filling in for your dad. You’re going to have trouble charming the Wizarding world’s finest when you’re still spitting mad. And you really should do something about your face – it’s still all bruised from where she punched you.”
“Of course I’m not afraid of her!” Draco shouted, ignoring Blaise’s attempts to divert his attention. “She’s the one with an unjustified sense of superiority! Acting as if she doesn’t care about money, as if it doesn’t affect her! Everyone can be bought, even self-righteous Gryffindors like her!”
“Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, but Annabelle Warren, your father’s assistant has arrived, wishing to brief you about the reception tonight,” a timid house elf said, cowering near the door, sensing his master’s mood and deciding it was best to keep a distance. Draco rolled his eyes, but then stopped, as if an idea had just struck him. He smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up with a malicious glow.
“We’ll have to teach her a little lesson in humility,” he said decisively, and then turned to his trembling house elf. “Send in Ms. Warren, we have a lot of work to do. I think a change in tonight’s venue will be in order.”
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Ginny had arrived at the Three Broomsticks breathless with exhilaration. The rest of the school day had been a complete blur, lost in all the excitement and the dizzying adrenaline rush brought on by her encounter with Malfoy. She had been cautious, however difficult it had been given her state of euphoria, but surprisingly, no one had retaliated against her. Most of her fellow students had maintained a fair distance from her, refusing to meet her eyes. It was as if they were all suddenly afraid of her.
She had chuckled to herself at that thought, knowing that even if they were afraid of her, it wouldn’t last. As soon as Malfoy and his minions regrouped, the rest would be on her again in due course, eager to please the circle of power at the school. They were all cowards, a bunch of self-serving cowards who were unwilling to stick their necks out unless there was some sort of benefit to them. Plus, she figured, after she’d bruised Malfoy’s ego, he’d want to be the one to retaliate first, and everyone would have known it and not wanted to risk his disfavour.
But she had still hurried away from the school, not wanting to test that theory. She arrived at the Three Broomsticks an hour early for her shift, running into Hermione on her way in. Breathless, Ginny had filled her in on what she’d done to Malfoy as they chose a table in the back of the restaurant, taking advantage of their free time to chat over a few Butterbeers.
“I can’t believe you actually said that! Well, actually, I can – I know how your tongue gets rather loose when you lose your temper – but I thought your common sense would have prevailed over your emotions,” Hermione exclaimed. “You hit him and declared war! Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but…Ginny!”
“It was like a volcano had exploded in my head, and all these words just came pouring out. I had no control – everything I had wanted to say since I started at that damn school and never could because I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I had this moment of clarity,” Ginny explained. “Who the hell is Draco Malfoy? What has he ever done that has everyone so afraid of him? Nothing! Everyone listens to him and does what he says, but he’s never done anything to earn that power!”
“But his father!” Hermione protested.
“Do you honestly think that Lucius Malfoy pays any attention to what happens at Hogwarts? Of course not! When I realized that – that Malfoy is nothing more than an arrogant spoiled rich kid that is all talk, I became absolutely furious! All this time, watching what he and his groupies do to other students, keeping silent because I was too afraid to stand up to him, and I just became so angry – mostly at myself for not realizing this sooner, that I just snapped!” Ginny exclaimed.
“But aren’t you worried about how they’re going to react? You’ve challenged them, declared war on them! Aren’t you afraid of what they’re going to do now?” Hermione asked. “Especially what they did to you before, and that was only for telling him off! I’m worried that you may have really crossed the line this time.”
Ginny paused, as if thinking it over, before she shook her head.
“No. I’m not afraid of what they’re going to do. There’s only one thing I’m really afraid of, and you know about that. It’s about time I remembered it,” Ginny said, thoughtfully. “It reminds me of why I’m in here in the first place.”
“Do you still get panic attacks in small spaces? Didn’t that spell I gave you work at all? It should have, it’s the most effective spell for claustrophobia I was able to find. Are you sure you’ve been saying the incantation right? It’s all in the pronunciation,” Hermione asked, her brow furrowed.
“By the time I realize what’s happening, I’m usually too much in a panic to remember it. Snape had us facing boggarts in a cupboard last week, and I was so panicked by the feeling of the walls closing in around me that I nearly passed out. He, of course, took a rather malicious pleasure in it, and he has threatened to make this year’s practical final something similar to that,” Ginny said with a shudder. “But…it has gotten better – it used to be I’d be terrified even in my own flat because it’s so small, but I’ve grown used to it.”
“It’s also been eleven years since the last time the Dark Mark was cast, ever since Dumbledore disappeared, putting an end to the war. That’s probably helped a bit,” Hermione said quietly, reaching for Ginny’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze as she noticed Ginny’s face had grown very pale.
“I was only four, but I’ll never forget that night, as long as I live,” Ginny said weakly. “That is the type of thing to be afraid of; seeing that mark in the sky over your house. Some slimy Slytherin brat on a power trip isn’t worthy of my fear.”
“Ginny dear! I was hoping that you’d be in early today. I just got an urgent booking tonight for a private reception in the Merlin Room, and I desperately need a hostess,” Madame Rosemerta said, sitting down at the girls’ table. The Merlin Room was the exclusive and completely elegant section of the restaurant that made up the second floor of the building. After Hogsmeade had grown from a small village to the major center of the Wizarding world – outside of Diagon Alley in London, of course – Madame Rosemerta had renovated the Three Broomsticks, adding the Merlin Room, in order to meet the demands of the higher class who flooded the city. But, as clever as she was, she had been able to capitalize on the desire for exclusivity, only booking the room rarely, and then only for the most exclusive of patrons. Whoever had requested it on such short notice was surely an important person, otherwise Rosemerta would have denied their request with a laugh.
Ginny grimaced at her, knowing what a night spent coordinating and seeing to the every whim of the richest people in Hogsmeade would entail. She could use the extra money it would bring, but it was far more trouble than it was worth.
“Maybe you should ask Hermione – this is the type of thing that she’s better at. Plus, I only have my regular uniform, hardly the kind of thing you want me wearing to serve those types,” Ginny said, squirming slightly.
“Believe me, Hermione would normally be my first choice, but they’re of the pure-blood sort, and I don’t want her to have to deal with that nonsense. You’ll have to do,” she said with a wink. “Besides, this will give me a chance to finally dress you up. You dress so plainly, dear. I have no idea why you try to blend in so much, but it doesn’t matter tonight. I’ve got some robes that will be appropriate for the event that you can wear, and we can have you made up in time to get things set up.”
Ginny cast Hermione a mournful glance. After her delicious afternoon of triumph, she would have to spend the night catering to a group of rich, snotty wizards who fancied themselves the most powerful men in the world. With a reluctant sigh, she stood up and followed her boss to the back of the restaurant and through to the attached flat where Rosemerta lived, resigned to be a dressed up puppet for the night.
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Ginny crossed through the French doors into the Merlin Room. Hermione had been busy in there while Ginny had been suffering in Rosemerta’s merciless hands, and almost everything was prepared. The sound of the high heels that had been forced upon her clicked audibly on the marble floor, strange to her ears, as she walked around the room, feeling the breathless wonder she always did whenever she was alone in there, surrounded by its elegance and beauty.
It was a stunning room, with mirrored walls accented with gold, brilliant crystal chandeliers, deep mahogany tables and chairs. Ginny, wand in hand, walked from table to table, lighting the candles in the crystal holders of each table’s centerpiece. Her fingers grazed the rich silk of the champagne-colored tablecloths, admiring the dance of light from the candles reflecting off the mirrored walls and crystal fixtures. She took note of what still needed to be done before the guests were set to arrive – the hors d’oeuvres needed to be brought it, the bar needed to be stocked and she considered rearranging the way the tables had been positioned to make room for the violinist that Rosemerta had been able to secure for the evening. Keeping a running list in her head, she walked towards the gold-trimmed bar at the far end of the room in order to see what needed to be brought in, but she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and paused, surprised by the sight of herself, dressed as she was, in such an elegant setting.
Rosemerta had chosen a simple black dress, using a simple charm to tailor it to Ginny’s shape, causing it to cling to her hips, flare at her knees and give her the illusion of an actual bust-line, which Rosemerta had pointed out much to Ginny’s embarrassment. Throwing a simple gold chain and a pair of dangerously delicate-looking strappy high heels into the mix, and Ginny’s body no longer looked like her own. She stared back at herself, looking at a face which was also unfamiliar to her, given the make-up Rosemerta had carefully applied and the French knot she’d wrestled Ginny’s hair into, all the time lecturing the girl on the importance of appearance when dealing with the higher class patrons. Ginny had grumbled through the entire ordeal, wishing she could just go home, wipe the gunk off her face and curl up in bed. But now, staring at herself, against a backdrop of extravagance, Ginny was shocked to see the person staring back at her.
“You could almost pass for one of us,” a silky voice said, startling her and causing her to jump slightly. Her heart jumped into her throat and she felt her face burning with embarrassment as she turned around. And froze as she came face to face with Draco Malfoy, wearing dress robes, his hair slicked back, and an arrogant smirk on his face. “It’s amazing what a few Galleons can do.”
“What are you doing here?” she demanded weakly. He was examining her with those eyes again, looking her up and down intently, his eyes moving slowly over her body. She suddenly felt naked – despite the yards of black silk that was her dress, the make-up on her face and potion in her hair, she felt completely naked before those searching eyes and she longed to throw her arms in front of herself – anything to keeping him from looking at her.
She backed away as he moved towards her, and nearly jumped out of her skin when his hand touched her shoulder. He was standing over her, eyes fixed on her in a way that had her meekly complying as he turned her around to face the mirrored wall again. He moved in right behind her, his face hovering over her shoulder, next to her ear.
“Isn’t it funny how the power of money can transform even a plain girl into something resembling a decent-looking witch,” he said, his voice so soft and silky, one would hardly note that his words were actually an insult. “A few Galleons and you’ve been transformed. By the power of money, which you so arrogantly stated has no affect on you.”
“It doesn’t,” she stammered. The truth was that the whole effect had been almost mesmerizing, standing in the middle of the elegant room, dressed so nicely, looking and feeling so different. Even now, with him standing behind her, watching as she stared at her own reflection, her hands were itching to run over the smooth silk of her dress and a part of her was relishing in the chance to admire the changes in her reflection. But it all seemed to wrong with him there. He could see through the illusion.
“Of course it does. You feel different. You’re surrounded by expensive and elegant things, and you’ve tried to dress to suit those surroundings. Some might not even notice that you’re wearing a designer imitation that’s terribly outdated and has been magically altered. That’s the power of money – you can create illusions and make people see more than what’s really there. Sprinkle a few Galleons on, and people will see you in a different light,” he said, a casual smirk on his face. Ginny had been concentrating so intently on the preparations that she hadn’t even noticed that he’d been watching her almost the entire time she’d been in the room – watching as she’d paused at the unfamiliar sound of her shoes clicking on the marble floor, watching as she lit each centerpiece and the candlelight illuminated her face, making her warm eyes glow, watched as her fingers brushed over the tablecloths, and the way she’d paused after catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and the wide-eyed way she’d stared at her reflection.
“People see me how they see me. Money has nothing to do with it,” she snapped, her discomfort at the way he’d been looking at her finally wrenching her out of the almost-hypnotic state his tone of voice, mixed with her surroundings, had put her in. She twisted herself away, turning from the mirror to face him, her hands resting on her hips, assuming an air of defiance. “Now, what are you doing here, Malfoy?”
He smiled, and didn’t answer as he moved about the room as if appraising it. Ginny’s eyes narrowed as irritation flooded through her. She was just about to demand he leave when he finally spoke.
“Didn’t you hear, little weasel? I’ve bought you for the evening,” he said, raising one eyebrow infuriatingly as he spoke. Ginny crossed her arms, in an attempt to quell the urge to hit something and glared at him.
“What rubbish are you talking about now?” she asked, exasperated, glancing at the clock on the wall, calculating how much time she had before she was supposed to begin hostessing the event scheduled that night.
“This party that you’re preparing for – I’m the host,” he said, with a smug grin, as Ginny felt her heart sink in her chest. “Which means that I’ve purchased you for the evening, to see my every whim, and to the needs of my guests.”
“You have a completely ridiculous perception of reality, Malfoy,” Ginny sighed. “What you’ve purchased are the services of a waitress for one evening. Just because that waitress happens to be me does not mean that you’ve bought me. You’ve bought a service, not a possession or a person.”
“Everyone can be bought, weasel. I promise you that I’ll prove that to you before our game is over. It’s just a matter of the price,” he said, casually leaning against the wall, making Ginny groan. Pretty as they were, it was incredibly difficult to wipe smudges off those mirrored walls. She stared at him for a moment as he gloried in his own smug arrogance, and her wits, which had until then woefully abandoned her the minute his presence had caught her off guard, finally seemed to be returning.
“Malfoy, I’m not like the other girls at school. I’m not impressed by your money and I cannot be bought – not for any price, and especially not by you! Nor am I afraid of you. Shall I remind of how unwise it is for you to treat me like I am?” she said coyly, taking a step towards him, hardly believing her own daring as she reached out and brushed his cheek, sweeping along his high cheekbone towards his nose. He grimaced, obviously still tender where she’d struck him. He grabbed her hand at her wrist, yanking it away from his face, staring at her again without releasing it.
“Ginny! Madame Rosemerta needs you!” Hermione’s voice called, and Ginny wrenched herself free of Malfoy’s hold. His grip on her wrist hadn’t been tight at all, but there was something about his presence and the way his eyes were staring at her that almost seemed to hold her captive. She dashed towards the entrance, to where Hermione was giving her a quizzical look as she rushed past, her shoulder brushing that of the guest who Hermione had been leading to the Merlin Room.
“Ginny? Who was that?” Hermione asked, following behind her as Ginny practically ran down the stairs, heading straight for the kitchen where she’d knew she’d find Madame Rosemerta barking instructions at the staff and lecturing the other waiters who’d be helping her with the reception. She paused, hand gripping the railing, crouching down to catch her breath.
“Malfoy,” Ginny growled. “Just my bloody luck!”
“Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy? Oh Ginny, this is horrible,” Hermione said, crouching down beside her friend, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “But I doubt he’ll do anything to you tonight. I know this lot, they’re all about appearances, and picking on the waitress in front the rich and power is rather base, even for him.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s won this round already, and it’s barely begun,” she said mournfully. She could already see what lay before her – of course the other seventh-year Slytherins would be there, it was an excuse to gather and discuss how fabulous they all were, and she’d be there, serving them. And for the sake of Madame Rosemerta and the reputation of the Three Broomsticks, she’d have to jump to meet their every demand, and do it all with a polite smile. “He has barely done anything, and he’s already winning the game. How did he know?”
“Know what?” Hermione asked curiously, her tone calm, indicating that she obviously didn’t understand the gravity of the situation – that Ginny’s pride and dignity were about to be punished, and there was nothing that her temper was going to be able to do about it, because the consequences to the other people around her would be too great.
“How to hit me where it would hurt the most,” Ginny exclaimed, incredulous that Hermione was not grasping the absolute horror of this whole ordeal. “He’s boxed me in, and tonight, there’s no escaping.”
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The insolent redhead had just ran right past her, practically knocking her over in the process, without so much as a word of apology. In fact, she’d barely even noticed what she’d done. Pansy Parkinson stood at the entrance of the dining room, watching as the audacious pauper retreated from the scene, and felt her temper boil.
She’d heard most of her conversation with Draco Malfoy. She’d planned on arriving to his event early, so as to secure a few private moments with the most eligible seventh year Slytherin, but the impertinent brat had ruined that plan. And all that talk about not being able to be bought… Under normal circumstances, she would have found it highly amusing and would have walked into the room, spirits high, ready to laugh about it with Draco.
But he was staring after her, looking as if he’d been hit in the face with a Bludger and hadn’t even acknowledged that Pansy was there. And after all the time and money she’d spent getting ready for this night, preparing to act as the perfect counterpart to Draco Malfoy, it was unacceptable that anyone ignore her, and especially not because of that little brat. But that wasn’t the only thing that was making her angry. It was that unnerving light in his eyes, the second time she’d seen it when he was looking at the Weasel, that made her absolutely furious. For who was she, but a plain, ordinary-looking girl who usually had two ratty braids in her hair, wore ugly shoes and was dirt poor? She was certainly not someone who even deserved his attention, let alone a look like that from the likes of Draco Malfoy!
Everyone has their price, Draco had said, while the Weasel had fiercely denied it. Pansy grinned maliciously as an idea took root in her mind, inspired by their little discussion.
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A harried-looking Ginny rushed past Hermione, barely glancing at her friend as she dashed back up the stairs, carrying a tray laden with drinks – the fifth such trip she’d made in the past ten minutes. The Merlin Room was equipped with its own bar, and Rosemerta had found a bar tender to serve upstairs for the party, but some of the more particular demands of the guests were keeping Ginny frightfully busy as she dashed about, trying to meet them all, despite having a full serving staff to assist her. But what fun would ordering around people they didn’t want to torture for the night? The Slytherins had their target, and would accept no substitutes.
“Was it made correctly this time? Honestly, I don’t know what this place has come to, the quality of service has been steadily declining for quite a while now,” Pansy Parkinson sneered as Ginny approached, handing her a cocktail from her tray. Ginny bit her tongue and just smiled indulgingly at Parkinson’s comments. Pansy took the proffered drink, sipping it with precaution, before grimacing and holding it away from her.
“Is there something wrong with it this time?” Ginny said, praying that she sounded polite, and not like she wanted to throttle the demanding girl. Pansy narrowed her eyes, and with a cold smile, she tipped the glass, allowing the contents to spill to the floor. After the glass emptied, she tossed it down, letting it smash on the marble floor at Ginny’s feet.
“After you clean that up, I’d like another, and I do hope that it will taste better than that Bubotuber Pus you’ve been trying to serve me!” she exclaimed shrilly, drawing quite a bit of attention as other guests turned to stare at the commotion, Pansy’s voice clearly audible over the music. Ginny felt her face burn with embarrassment and anger, but she merely smiled and nodded, before turning away to find a free server to fetch the drink while she cleaned it up. She ignored the laughing group of Slytherins that were hovering near the door, all watching her.
“Please be more careful, I don’t want any of my guests to slip and fall because of your ineptitude as a waitress,” Draco Malfoy called out, causing her to pause as she made her way behind the bar. She turned towards him, the words she planned to snap back at him – that it was hardly her fault if his guests were severely courtesy-deficient – dying on her lips as she noted that he was standing in a circle of older men that represented the wealth and power of Hogsmeade. She recognized quite a few of them, as they frequented the Three Broomsticks, her eyes flicking across their faces quickly before settling on Malfoy’s smirking face.
“Of course. I can assure you that it will not happen again,” Ginny said, a tight smile on her face and a false cheeriness in her voice. “Is there anything I can get you gentlemen on my way through?”
“Mr. Nott, it appears as if your glass is empty. Care for another?” Malfoy asked, turning to the man on his right, who laughed and nodded, his eyes red and glassy. Ginny sighed inwardly, thinking to herself that the man had clearly already had his fair share of refreshments, but as the waitress, she could hardly question the matter.
“If you’ll just come with me to the bar, sir, we’ll take care of you straight away,” Ginny said, stepping forward, and taking the older man’s arm to lead him as he walked rather tipsily, indulging in the satisfaction of casting Malfoy a look of utter loathing as she passed, gasping slightly as the elderly man’s hand settled on an area demonstrably below her waist.
After seeing Mr. Nott safely to the bar, Ginny headed behind it, searching for a dustpan to take care of the broken glass that still littered the floor where Parkinson had tossed her glass, crouching down and searching below the counter. After giving up and deciding that it would just be easier to ask Madame Rosemerta to use one of her cleaning charms, she stood up and nearly cried out in surprise as she found herself face-to-face with Blaise Zabini, and felt her face immediately begin to burn. He stared at her, a slight smile on his face, and she desperately tried to collect her thought in order to form a coherent sentence, but his lovely brown eyes seemed to be twinkling at her with amusement and she was pretty sure that her brain had just melted.
“Glass of water please,” he said simply, and Ginny blinked in confusion, before realization hit her that she was a waitress, and he was a guest at the party and was ordering a drink from her. Shaking off her embarrassment, she tried to smile naturally at him as she reached for a glass and the pitcher of water, waiting for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
“Here you go,” she said, as she handed him the glass, amazed at her own ability to hold it steady and to keep her voice from stuttering. He nodded his thanks, and was about to turn away when Malfoy strode up to the bar, smacking his friend on the shoulder.
“Zabini! You’re late! You’ve left me with all those old men for the whole damn night!” Malfoy cried. Blaise just shrugged his shoulders apologetically, offering no explanation. “There are only so many glorious war stories a bloke can take!”
“I was listening to the Quidditch game on the Wireless,” Zabini answered, to which Malfoy slowly nodded in understanding.
“I see. Well, that, I guess I can forgive. It is the World Cup playoffs, after all. How’d Cho’s team do?” Malfoy asked, with a sly grin at his friend. Ginny, who had been listening to their entire conversation, felt a jolt of curiosity, and wondered if they were talking about Cho Chang, the only female Seeker to ever play in the World Cup. Before she could consider the matter any further, Malfoy turned to her. “Hey, weasel, make sure you escort my guests to their carriages. Wouldn’t want anyone to fall down the stairs. I want to make sure my guests are getting what I’m paying for.”
As he spoke, he had cast a pointed look in the direction of the group of elderly men he’d been chatting to most of the evening – a group of rather intoxicated old men. He looked down at her with a smug smile, before leading Blaise away from the bar.
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Ginny’s temper was very brittle by the time she packed the drunken man into his expensive carriage, carefully brushing away his clumsy attempts to grope her as he slurred drunkenly about how impressive his fortune was. Heaving a sigh of relief, almost disbelieving the fact that she had made it through the entire night without yelling, screaming or recreating the scene at lunch today by punching Malfoy again, Ginny wearily made her way back up the stairs to assess the damage and begin cleaning up.
Assuming that everyone had left except the staff, she gratefully kicked off her heels, and yanked the pins holding her hair up, shaking out her hair and wanting to weep with how it wonderful it felt. Looking around the ballroom, she noted happily that the rest of the staff had taken care of most of the clean up while she’d been running around at the Slytherins’ beck and call. Hermione was in there, already diligently sweeping and clearing tables, and Ginny took a moment to sit down and relax. She’d been on her feet for almost six hours in those ridiculously impractical shoes.
“You survived,” Hermione called out, noticing her. Ginny laughed, as she looked down at the dress Madame Rosemerta had lent her for the night. The front was drenched and sticky from Pansy Parkinson’s last temper tantrum over the taste of her drink, and off to the side, there was a lovely smear from where Crabbe had bumped into her while she’d been holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres, smashing it into her dress. He’d actually apologized with the appearance of sincerity, but the barely concealed giggling of Millicent Bulstrode beside him indicated that he’d intended to do it. She merely sighed, and taken the blame, as was expected of a servant to the rich and powerful.
“I survived,” Ginny said, her voice sounding rather cynical. “I’ve been screamed at, humiliated a few times as I just had to stand there and apologize when they bumped into me and had my dignity trampled on a few times, but I’ve survived.”
“If it was that horrible for you, why do it?” a voice asked from the doorway, and Ginny felt her heart sink, recognizing its owner. “You claimed you weren’t going to put up with any of our… what did you call it? Oh yes, crap.”
“Because, Malfoy, I have obligations and responsibilities. That may be a concept you don’t understand, being the selfish and spoiled son of Lucius Malfoy, but some of us feel the need to honor them,” Ginny snapped, jumping up and twirling around to face him, furious that he’d caught her off guard again. She’d thought he had already left and that she was free of him at least until tomorrow. “If I’d given any of you what you really deserve, it would have been Madame Rosemerta who suffered, as my actions would have reflected on her because I’m her employee.”
Malfoy’s eyebrows were slightly raised as he observed her, a faint yet incredibly infuriating smile on his lips.
“It’s not for someone like you to decide what anyone better than you deserves. It would appear that you already know that, which is the real reason why you didn’t say or do anything. Tonight just proved what I’ve been telling you,” he said.
“It proves nothing! You trapped me in a situation where I couldn’t do or say anything without there being consequences for other people who have nothing to do with your stupid game, and you know it, which is why you did it so you can stop acting so superior!” Ginny cried, her voice rising as the strain of the day caught up with her and her temper snapped, unable to listen to any more of his self-superior nonsense. He regarded her for a moment, as if deep in thought.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at school, weasel,” he said simply, and without another word, he turned and left. Her brief moment of peace completely ruined, Ginny set about wiping off the rest of the tables, taking large angry swipes with her bar towel.
“That insufferable git! Can you believe that rubbish he was saying?” Ginny ranted to Hermione as she worked. Hermione was silent, causing Ginny to look up, having expected a sympathetic response from her friend. Hermione was looking at her thoughtfully, with the look she got in her eye when her mind was in full swing trying to decipher an Arithmancy problem. “Hermione!”
“Be careful, Ginny,” Hermione said suddenly. “There was something about the way he was looking at you… There’s a lot more to this game between you two than just the fact that you’ve insulted his pride.”
“That’s because it’s not a game. It’s a war,” Ginny said, shrugging off Hermione’s comment.
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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for your comments! I've tried to respond to as many as I could, and some were so thought-provoking that I've been babbling about it all on my LiveJournal, to the chagrin of my flist that has to put up with my obsession with my own fic. If any of you are interested, I tend to post pieces of upcoming chapters there quite frequently.
Drawn from HYD:
1) The conversation that Ginny and Draco have about money before the party begins. In the series, this type of conversation takes places after she's been kidnapped and given a makeover, and they argue and she declares that she cannot be bought. I thought that was a little too... well, cheesy for me, so I created a sitaution where they could have the same type of conversation, hopefully with slightly less cheese.
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Chapter Five: Stalemate
Draco Malfoy was right in the middle of pitching a serious temper tantrum, so much so that he was barely aware of the fact that three pairs of very amused eyes were watching as he paced around the room. Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise Zabini smiled to each other as their friend ranted furiously, arms flailing as his composure was completely sacrificed to his temper.
“Who does she think she it? Blasting all that crap about how I have no reason to act superior?” Draco raged, sitting down across from his friends, staring at them with a baffled expression, as if he just couldn’t process what Ginny had said. “What was all that nonsense about?”
“Mate, you were beat down by that short little girl. That’s a pretty good reason why you shouldn’t be acting too superior,” Crabbe laughed. Draco glared as his friends all joined in, mocking him.
“It’s a shame I missed it. I think I would have enjoyed seeing the mighty Draco Malfoy being put in his place by a lowly Weasley,” Blaise said, his low voice tinged with amusement.
“How dare she! If she thought it was bad for her before, she has another think coming. I’m going to be completely merciless. She hit me! She hit me!” he exclaimed. “And now she’s declared war on us? She is going to regret this for the rest of her life!”
“Hmm, you’re certainly reacting very strongly to this. Could it be fear motivating your anger?” Crabbe asked. “This is the first time you’ve ever been challenged, and by some dirt poor little Gryffindor! There has to be some voice in your head asking how can you possibly expect to take over your father’s empire if you can’t even control one stubborn girl?”
“Draco, you’d better calm down,” Blaise interjected, seeing the furious look in Draco’s eyes, and shooting Crabbe an exasperated glare. “We’ve got that reception tonight at Starlight Hotel, and you’re supposed to be filling in for your dad. You’re going to have trouble charming the Wizarding world’s finest when you’re still spitting mad. And you really should do something about your face – it’s still all bruised from where she punched you.”
“Of course I’m not afraid of her!” Draco shouted, ignoring Blaise’s attempts to divert his attention. “She’s the one with an unjustified sense of superiority! Acting as if she doesn’t care about money, as if it doesn’t affect her! Everyone can be bought, even self-righteous Gryffindors like her!”
“Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, but Annabelle Warren, your father’s assistant has arrived, wishing to brief you about the reception tonight,” a timid house elf said, cowering near the door, sensing his master’s mood and deciding it was best to keep a distance. Draco rolled his eyes, but then stopped, as if an idea had just struck him. He smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up with a malicious glow.
“We’ll have to teach her a little lesson in humility,” he said decisively, and then turned to his trembling house elf. “Send in Ms. Warren, we have a lot of work to do. I think a change in tonight’s venue will be in order.”
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Ginny had arrived at the Three Broomsticks breathless with exhilaration. The rest of the school day had been a complete blur, lost in all the excitement and the dizzying adrenaline rush brought on by her encounter with Malfoy. She had been cautious, however difficult it had been given her state of euphoria, but surprisingly, no one had retaliated against her. Most of her fellow students had maintained a fair distance from her, refusing to meet her eyes. It was as if they were all suddenly afraid of her.
She had chuckled to herself at that thought, knowing that even if they were afraid of her, it wouldn’t last. As soon as Malfoy and his minions regrouped, the rest would be on her again in due course, eager to please the circle of power at the school. They were all cowards, a bunch of self-serving cowards who were unwilling to stick their necks out unless there was some sort of benefit to them. Plus, she figured, after she’d bruised Malfoy’s ego, he’d want to be the one to retaliate first, and everyone would have known it and not wanted to risk his disfavour.
But she had still hurried away from the school, not wanting to test that theory. She arrived at the Three Broomsticks an hour early for her shift, running into Hermione on her way in. Breathless, Ginny had filled her in on what she’d done to Malfoy as they chose a table in the back of the restaurant, taking advantage of their free time to chat over a few Butterbeers.
“I can’t believe you actually said that! Well, actually, I can – I know how your tongue gets rather loose when you lose your temper – but I thought your common sense would have prevailed over your emotions,” Hermione exclaimed. “You hit him and declared war! Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but…Ginny!”
“It was like a volcano had exploded in my head, and all these words just came pouring out. I had no control – everything I had wanted to say since I started at that damn school and never could because I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I had this moment of clarity,” Ginny explained. “Who the hell is Draco Malfoy? What has he ever done that has everyone so afraid of him? Nothing! Everyone listens to him and does what he says, but he’s never done anything to earn that power!”
“But his father!” Hermione protested.
“Do you honestly think that Lucius Malfoy pays any attention to what happens at Hogwarts? Of course not! When I realized that – that Malfoy is nothing more than an arrogant spoiled rich kid that is all talk, I became absolutely furious! All this time, watching what he and his groupies do to other students, keeping silent because I was too afraid to stand up to him, and I just became so angry – mostly at myself for not realizing this sooner, that I just snapped!” Ginny exclaimed.
“But aren’t you worried about how they’re going to react? You’ve challenged them, declared war on them! Aren’t you afraid of what they’re going to do now?” Hermione asked. “Especially what they did to you before, and that was only for telling him off! I’m worried that you may have really crossed the line this time.”
Ginny paused, as if thinking it over, before she shook her head.
“No. I’m not afraid of what they’re going to do. There’s only one thing I’m really afraid of, and you know about that. It’s about time I remembered it,” Ginny said, thoughtfully. “It reminds me of why I’m in here in the first place.”
“Do you still get panic attacks in small spaces? Didn’t that spell I gave you work at all? It should have, it’s the most effective spell for claustrophobia I was able to find. Are you sure you’ve been saying the incantation right? It’s all in the pronunciation,” Hermione asked, her brow furrowed.
“By the time I realize what’s happening, I’m usually too much in a panic to remember it. Snape had us facing boggarts in a cupboard last week, and I was so panicked by the feeling of the walls closing in around me that I nearly passed out. He, of course, took a rather malicious pleasure in it, and he has threatened to make this year’s practical final something similar to that,” Ginny said with a shudder. “But…it has gotten better – it used to be I’d be terrified even in my own flat because it’s so small, but I’ve grown used to it.”
“It’s also been eleven years since the last time the Dark Mark was cast, ever since Dumbledore disappeared, putting an end to the war. That’s probably helped a bit,” Hermione said quietly, reaching for Ginny’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze as she noticed Ginny’s face had grown very pale.
“I was only four, but I’ll never forget that night, as long as I live,” Ginny said weakly. “That is the type of thing to be afraid of; seeing that mark in the sky over your house. Some slimy Slytherin brat on a power trip isn’t worthy of my fear.”
“Ginny dear! I was hoping that you’d be in early today. I just got an urgent booking tonight for a private reception in the Merlin Room, and I desperately need a hostess,” Madame Rosemerta said, sitting down at the girls’ table. The Merlin Room was the exclusive and completely elegant section of the restaurant that made up the second floor of the building. After Hogsmeade had grown from a small village to the major center of the Wizarding world – outside of Diagon Alley in London, of course – Madame Rosemerta had renovated the Three Broomsticks, adding the Merlin Room, in order to meet the demands of the higher class who flooded the city. But, as clever as she was, she had been able to capitalize on the desire for exclusivity, only booking the room rarely, and then only for the most exclusive of patrons. Whoever had requested it on such short notice was surely an important person, otherwise Rosemerta would have denied their request with a laugh.
Ginny grimaced at her, knowing what a night spent coordinating and seeing to the every whim of the richest people in Hogsmeade would entail. She could use the extra money it would bring, but it was far more trouble than it was worth.
“Maybe you should ask Hermione – this is the type of thing that she’s better at. Plus, I only have my regular uniform, hardly the kind of thing you want me wearing to serve those types,” Ginny said, squirming slightly.
“Believe me, Hermione would normally be my first choice, but they’re of the pure-blood sort, and I don’t want her to have to deal with that nonsense. You’ll have to do,” she said with a wink. “Besides, this will give me a chance to finally dress you up. You dress so plainly, dear. I have no idea why you try to blend in so much, but it doesn’t matter tonight. I’ve got some robes that will be appropriate for the event that you can wear, and we can have you made up in time to get things set up.”
Ginny cast Hermione a mournful glance. After her delicious afternoon of triumph, she would have to spend the night catering to a group of rich, snotty wizards who fancied themselves the most powerful men in the world. With a reluctant sigh, she stood up and followed her boss to the back of the restaurant and through to the attached flat where Rosemerta lived, resigned to be a dressed up puppet for the night.
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Ginny crossed through the French doors into the Merlin Room. Hermione had been busy in there while Ginny had been suffering in Rosemerta’s merciless hands, and almost everything was prepared. The sound of the high heels that had been forced upon her clicked audibly on the marble floor, strange to her ears, as she walked around the room, feeling the breathless wonder she always did whenever she was alone in there, surrounded by its elegance and beauty.
It was a stunning room, with mirrored walls accented with gold, brilliant crystal chandeliers, deep mahogany tables and chairs. Ginny, wand in hand, walked from table to table, lighting the candles in the crystal holders of each table’s centerpiece. Her fingers grazed the rich silk of the champagne-colored tablecloths, admiring the dance of light from the candles reflecting off the mirrored walls and crystal fixtures. She took note of what still needed to be done before the guests were set to arrive – the hors d’oeuvres needed to be brought it, the bar needed to be stocked and she considered rearranging the way the tables had been positioned to make room for the violinist that Rosemerta had been able to secure for the evening. Keeping a running list in her head, she walked towards the gold-trimmed bar at the far end of the room in order to see what needed to be brought in, but she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and paused, surprised by the sight of herself, dressed as she was, in such an elegant setting.
Rosemerta had chosen a simple black dress, using a simple charm to tailor it to Ginny’s shape, causing it to cling to her hips, flare at her knees and give her the illusion of an actual bust-line, which Rosemerta had pointed out much to Ginny’s embarrassment. Throwing a simple gold chain and a pair of dangerously delicate-looking strappy high heels into the mix, and Ginny’s body no longer looked like her own. She stared back at herself, looking at a face which was also unfamiliar to her, given the make-up Rosemerta had carefully applied and the French knot she’d wrestled Ginny’s hair into, all the time lecturing the girl on the importance of appearance when dealing with the higher class patrons. Ginny had grumbled through the entire ordeal, wishing she could just go home, wipe the gunk off her face and curl up in bed. But now, staring at herself, against a backdrop of extravagance, Ginny was shocked to see the person staring back at her.
“You could almost pass for one of us,” a silky voice said, startling her and causing her to jump slightly. Her heart jumped into her throat and she felt her face burning with embarrassment as she turned around. And froze as she came face to face with Draco Malfoy, wearing dress robes, his hair slicked back, and an arrogant smirk on his face. “It’s amazing what a few Galleons can do.”
“What are you doing here?” she demanded weakly. He was examining her with those eyes again, looking her up and down intently, his eyes moving slowly over her body. She suddenly felt naked – despite the yards of black silk that was her dress, the make-up on her face and potion in her hair, she felt completely naked before those searching eyes and she longed to throw her arms in front of herself – anything to keeping him from looking at her.
She backed away as he moved towards her, and nearly jumped out of her skin when his hand touched her shoulder. He was standing over her, eyes fixed on her in a way that had her meekly complying as he turned her around to face the mirrored wall again. He moved in right behind her, his face hovering over her shoulder, next to her ear.
“Isn’t it funny how the power of money can transform even a plain girl into something resembling a decent-looking witch,” he said, his voice so soft and silky, one would hardly note that his words were actually an insult. “A few Galleons and you’ve been transformed. By the power of money, which you so arrogantly stated has no affect on you.”
“It doesn’t,” she stammered. The truth was that the whole effect had been almost mesmerizing, standing in the middle of the elegant room, dressed so nicely, looking and feeling so different. Even now, with him standing behind her, watching as she stared at her own reflection, her hands were itching to run over the smooth silk of her dress and a part of her was relishing in the chance to admire the changes in her reflection. But it all seemed to wrong with him there. He could see through the illusion.
“Of course it does. You feel different. You’re surrounded by expensive and elegant things, and you’ve tried to dress to suit those surroundings. Some might not even notice that you’re wearing a designer imitation that’s terribly outdated and has been magically altered. That’s the power of money – you can create illusions and make people see more than what’s really there. Sprinkle a few Galleons on, and people will see you in a different light,” he said, a casual smirk on his face. Ginny had been concentrating so intently on the preparations that she hadn’t even noticed that he’d been watching her almost the entire time she’d been in the room – watching as she’d paused at the unfamiliar sound of her shoes clicking on the marble floor, watching as she lit each centerpiece and the candlelight illuminated her face, making her warm eyes glow, watched as her fingers brushed over the tablecloths, and the way she’d paused after catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and the wide-eyed way she’d stared at her reflection.
“People see me how they see me. Money has nothing to do with it,” she snapped, her discomfort at the way he’d been looking at her finally wrenching her out of the almost-hypnotic state his tone of voice, mixed with her surroundings, had put her in. She twisted herself away, turning from the mirror to face him, her hands resting on her hips, assuming an air of defiance. “Now, what are you doing here, Malfoy?”
He smiled, and didn’t answer as he moved about the room as if appraising it. Ginny’s eyes narrowed as irritation flooded through her. She was just about to demand he leave when he finally spoke.
“Didn’t you hear, little weasel? I’ve bought you for the evening,” he said, raising one eyebrow infuriatingly as he spoke. Ginny crossed her arms, in an attempt to quell the urge to hit something and glared at him.
“What rubbish are you talking about now?” she asked, exasperated, glancing at the clock on the wall, calculating how much time she had before she was supposed to begin hostessing the event scheduled that night.
“This party that you’re preparing for – I’m the host,” he said, with a smug grin, as Ginny felt her heart sink in her chest. “Which means that I’ve purchased you for the evening, to see my every whim, and to the needs of my guests.”
“You have a completely ridiculous perception of reality, Malfoy,” Ginny sighed. “What you’ve purchased are the services of a waitress for one evening. Just because that waitress happens to be me does not mean that you’ve bought me. You’ve bought a service, not a possession or a person.”
“Everyone can be bought, weasel. I promise you that I’ll prove that to you before our game is over. It’s just a matter of the price,” he said, casually leaning against the wall, making Ginny groan. Pretty as they were, it was incredibly difficult to wipe smudges off those mirrored walls. She stared at him for a moment as he gloried in his own smug arrogance, and her wits, which had until then woefully abandoned her the minute his presence had caught her off guard, finally seemed to be returning.
“Malfoy, I’m not like the other girls at school. I’m not impressed by your money and I cannot be bought – not for any price, and especially not by you! Nor am I afraid of you. Shall I remind of how unwise it is for you to treat me like I am?” she said coyly, taking a step towards him, hardly believing her own daring as she reached out and brushed his cheek, sweeping along his high cheekbone towards his nose. He grimaced, obviously still tender where she’d struck him. He grabbed her hand at her wrist, yanking it away from his face, staring at her again without releasing it.
“Ginny! Madame Rosemerta needs you!” Hermione’s voice called, and Ginny wrenched herself free of Malfoy’s hold. His grip on her wrist hadn’t been tight at all, but there was something about his presence and the way his eyes were staring at her that almost seemed to hold her captive. She dashed towards the entrance, to where Hermione was giving her a quizzical look as she rushed past, her shoulder brushing that of the guest who Hermione had been leading to the Merlin Room.
“Ginny? Who was that?” Hermione asked, following behind her as Ginny practically ran down the stairs, heading straight for the kitchen where she’d knew she’d find Madame Rosemerta barking instructions at the staff and lecturing the other waiters who’d be helping her with the reception. She paused, hand gripping the railing, crouching down to catch her breath.
“Malfoy,” Ginny growled. “Just my bloody luck!”
“Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy? Oh Ginny, this is horrible,” Hermione said, crouching down beside her friend, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “But I doubt he’ll do anything to you tonight. I know this lot, they’re all about appearances, and picking on the waitress in front the rich and power is rather base, even for him.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s won this round already, and it’s barely begun,” she said mournfully. She could already see what lay before her – of course the other seventh-year Slytherins would be there, it was an excuse to gather and discuss how fabulous they all were, and she’d be there, serving them. And for the sake of Madame Rosemerta and the reputation of the Three Broomsticks, she’d have to jump to meet their every demand, and do it all with a polite smile. “He has barely done anything, and he’s already winning the game. How did he know?”
“Know what?” Hermione asked curiously, her tone calm, indicating that she obviously didn’t understand the gravity of the situation – that Ginny’s pride and dignity were about to be punished, and there was nothing that her temper was going to be able to do about it, because the consequences to the other people around her would be too great.
“How to hit me where it would hurt the most,” Ginny exclaimed, incredulous that Hermione was not grasping the absolute horror of this whole ordeal. “He’s boxed me in, and tonight, there’s no escaping.”
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The insolent redhead had just ran right past her, practically knocking her over in the process, without so much as a word of apology. In fact, she’d barely even noticed what she’d done. Pansy Parkinson stood at the entrance of the dining room, watching as the audacious pauper retreated from the scene, and felt her temper boil.
She’d heard most of her conversation with Draco Malfoy. She’d planned on arriving to his event early, so as to secure a few private moments with the most eligible seventh year Slytherin, but the impertinent brat had ruined that plan. And all that talk about not being able to be bought… Under normal circumstances, she would have found it highly amusing and would have walked into the room, spirits high, ready to laugh about it with Draco.
But he was staring after her, looking as if he’d been hit in the face with a Bludger and hadn’t even acknowledged that Pansy was there. And after all the time and money she’d spent getting ready for this night, preparing to act as the perfect counterpart to Draco Malfoy, it was unacceptable that anyone ignore her, and especially not because of that little brat. But that wasn’t the only thing that was making her angry. It was that unnerving light in his eyes, the second time she’d seen it when he was looking at the Weasel, that made her absolutely furious. For who was she, but a plain, ordinary-looking girl who usually had two ratty braids in her hair, wore ugly shoes and was dirt poor? She was certainly not someone who even deserved his attention, let alone a look like that from the likes of Draco Malfoy!
Everyone has their price, Draco had said, while the Weasel had fiercely denied it. Pansy grinned maliciously as an idea took root in her mind, inspired by their little discussion.
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A harried-looking Ginny rushed past Hermione, barely glancing at her friend as she dashed back up the stairs, carrying a tray laden with drinks – the fifth such trip she’d made in the past ten minutes. The Merlin Room was equipped with its own bar, and Rosemerta had found a bar tender to serve upstairs for the party, but some of the more particular demands of the guests were keeping Ginny frightfully busy as she dashed about, trying to meet them all, despite having a full serving staff to assist her. But what fun would ordering around people they didn’t want to torture for the night? The Slytherins had their target, and would accept no substitutes.
“Was it made correctly this time? Honestly, I don’t know what this place has come to, the quality of service has been steadily declining for quite a while now,” Pansy Parkinson sneered as Ginny approached, handing her a cocktail from her tray. Ginny bit her tongue and just smiled indulgingly at Parkinson’s comments. Pansy took the proffered drink, sipping it with precaution, before grimacing and holding it away from her.
“Is there something wrong with it this time?” Ginny said, praying that she sounded polite, and not like she wanted to throttle the demanding girl. Pansy narrowed her eyes, and with a cold smile, she tipped the glass, allowing the contents to spill to the floor. After the glass emptied, she tossed it down, letting it smash on the marble floor at Ginny’s feet.
“After you clean that up, I’d like another, and I do hope that it will taste better than that Bubotuber Pus you’ve been trying to serve me!” she exclaimed shrilly, drawing quite a bit of attention as other guests turned to stare at the commotion, Pansy’s voice clearly audible over the music. Ginny felt her face burn with embarrassment and anger, but she merely smiled and nodded, before turning away to find a free server to fetch the drink while she cleaned it up. She ignored the laughing group of Slytherins that were hovering near the door, all watching her.
“Please be more careful, I don’t want any of my guests to slip and fall because of your ineptitude as a waitress,” Draco Malfoy called out, causing her to pause as she made her way behind the bar. She turned towards him, the words she planned to snap back at him – that it was hardly her fault if his guests were severely courtesy-deficient – dying on her lips as she noted that he was standing in a circle of older men that represented the wealth and power of Hogsmeade. She recognized quite a few of them, as they frequented the Three Broomsticks, her eyes flicking across their faces quickly before settling on Malfoy’s smirking face.
“Of course. I can assure you that it will not happen again,” Ginny said, a tight smile on her face and a false cheeriness in her voice. “Is there anything I can get you gentlemen on my way through?”
“Mr. Nott, it appears as if your glass is empty. Care for another?” Malfoy asked, turning to the man on his right, who laughed and nodded, his eyes red and glassy. Ginny sighed inwardly, thinking to herself that the man had clearly already had his fair share of refreshments, but as the waitress, she could hardly question the matter.
“If you’ll just come with me to the bar, sir, we’ll take care of you straight away,” Ginny said, stepping forward, and taking the older man’s arm to lead him as he walked rather tipsily, indulging in the satisfaction of casting Malfoy a look of utter loathing as she passed, gasping slightly as the elderly man’s hand settled on an area demonstrably below her waist.
After seeing Mr. Nott safely to the bar, Ginny headed behind it, searching for a dustpan to take care of the broken glass that still littered the floor where Parkinson had tossed her glass, crouching down and searching below the counter. After giving up and deciding that it would just be easier to ask Madame Rosemerta to use one of her cleaning charms, she stood up and nearly cried out in surprise as she found herself face-to-face with Blaise Zabini, and felt her face immediately begin to burn. He stared at her, a slight smile on his face, and she desperately tried to collect her thought in order to form a coherent sentence, but his lovely brown eyes seemed to be twinkling at her with amusement and she was pretty sure that her brain had just melted.
“Glass of water please,” he said simply, and Ginny blinked in confusion, before realization hit her that she was a waitress, and he was a guest at the party and was ordering a drink from her. Shaking off her embarrassment, she tried to smile naturally at him as she reached for a glass and the pitcher of water, waiting for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
“Here you go,” she said, as she handed him the glass, amazed at her own ability to hold it steady and to keep her voice from stuttering. He nodded his thanks, and was about to turn away when Malfoy strode up to the bar, smacking his friend on the shoulder.
“Zabini! You’re late! You’ve left me with all those old men for the whole damn night!” Malfoy cried. Blaise just shrugged his shoulders apologetically, offering no explanation. “There are only so many glorious war stories a bloke can take!”
“I was listening to the Quidditch game on the Wireless,” Zabini answered, to which Malfoy slowly nodded in understanding.
“I see. Well, that, I guess I can forgive. It is the World Cup playoffs, after all. How’d Cho’s team do?” Malfoy asked, with a sly grin at his friend. Ginny, who had been listening to their entire conversation, felt a jolt of curiosity, and wondered if they were talking about Cho Chang, the only female Seeker to ever play in the World Cup. Before she could consider the matter any further, Malfoy turned to her. “Hey, weasel, make sure you escort my guests to their carriages. Wouldn’t want anyone to fall down the stairs. I want to make sure my guests are getting what I’m paying for.”
As he spoke, he had cast a pointed look in the direction of the group of elderly men he’d been chatting to most of the evening – a group of rather intoxicated old men. He looked down at her with a smug smile, before leading Blaise away from the bar.
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Ginny’s temper was very brittle by the time she packed the drunken man into his expensive carriage, carefully brushing away his clumsy attempts to grope her as he slurred drunkenly about how impressive his fortune was. Heaving a sigh of relief, almost disbelieving the fact that she had made it through the entire night without yelling, screaming or recreating the scene at lunch today by punching Malfoy again, Ginny wearily made her way back up the stairs to assess the damage and begin cleaning up.
Assuming that everyone had left except the staff, she gratefully kicked off her heels, and yanked the pins holding her hair up, shaking out her hair and wanting to weep with how it wonderful it felt. Looking around the ballroom, she noted happily that the rest of the staff had taken care of most of the clean up while she’d been running around at the Slytherins’ beck and call. Hermione was in there, already diligently sweeping and clearing tables, and Ginny took a moment to sit down and relax. She’d been on her feet for almost six hours in those ridiculously impractical shoes.
“You survived,” Hermione called out, noticing her. Ginny laughed, as she looked down at the dress Madame Rosemerta had lent her for the night. The front was drenched and sticky from Pansy Parkinson’s last temper tantrum over the taste of her drink, and off to the side, there was a lovely smear from where Crabbe had bumped into her while she’d been holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres, smashing it into her dress. He’d actually apologized with the appearance of sincerity, but the barely concealed giggling of Millicent Bulstrode beside him indicated that he’d intended to do it. She merely sighed, and taken the blame, as was expected of a servant to the rich and powerful.
“I survived,” Ginny said, her voice sounding rather cynical. “I’ve been screamed at, humiliated a few times as I just had to stand there and apologize when they bumped into me and had my dignity trampled on a few times, but I’ve survived.”
“If it was that horrible for you, why do it?” a voice asked from the doorway, and Ginny felt her heart sink, recognizing its owner. “You claimed you weren’t going to put up with any of our… what did you call it? Oh yes, crap.”
“Because, Malfoy, I have obligations and responsibilities. That may be a concept you don’t understand, being the selfish and spoiled son of Lucius Malfoy, but some of us feel the need to honor them,” Ginny snapped, jumping up and twirling around to face him, furious that he’d caught her off guard again. She’d thought he had already left and that she was free of him at least until tomorrow. “If I’d given any of you what you really deserve, it would have been Madame Rosemerta who suffered, as my actions would have reflected on her because I’m her employee.”
Malfoy’s eyebrows were slightly raised as he observed her, a faint yet incredibly infuriating smile on his lips.
“It’s not for someone like you to decide what anyone better than you deserves. It would appear that you already know that, which is the real reason why you didn’t say or do anything. Tonight just proved what I’ve been telling you,” he said.
“It proves nothing! You trapped me in a situation where I couldn’t do or say anything without there being consequences for other people who have nothing to do with your stupid game, and you know it, which is why you did it so you can stop acting so superior!” Ginny cried, her voice rising as the strain of the day caught up with her and her temper snapped, unable to listen to any more of his self-superior nonsense. He regarded her for a moment, as if deep in thought.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at school, weasel,” he said simply, and without another word, he turned and left. Her brief moment of peace completely ruined, Ginny set about wiping off the rest of the tables, taking large angry swipes with her bar towel.
“That insufferable git! Can you believe that rubbish he was saying?” Ginny ranted to Hermione as she worked. Hermione was silent, causing Ginny to look up, having expected a sympathetic response from her friend. Hermione was looking at her thoughtfully, with the look she got in her eye when her mind was in full swing trying to decipher an Arithmancy problem. “Hermione!”
“Be careful, Ginny,” Hermione said suddenly. “There was something about the way he was looking at you… There’s a lot more to this game between you two than just the fact that you’ve insulted his pride.”
“That’s because it’s not a game. It’s a war,” Ginny said, shrugging off Hermione’s comment.
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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for your comments! I've tried to respond to as many as I could, and some were so thought-provoking that I've been babbling about it all on my LiveJournal, to the chagrin of my flist that has to put up with my obsession with my own fic. If any of you are interested, I tend to post pieces of upcoming chapters there quite frequently.
Drawn from HYD:
1) The conversation that Ginny and Draco have about money before the party begins. In the series, this type of conversation takes places after she's been kidnapped and given a makeover, and they argue and she declares that she cannot be bought. I thought that was a little too... well, cheesy for me, so I created a sitaution where they could have the same type of conversation, hopefully with slightly less cheese.
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