Chapter 10
The Party
Draco didn’t remember the way Ginny looked when she met him for Pansy’s party, so much as he remembered the way that he felt. It was as if everything else in the room had suddenly vanished, focusing all attention solely on her.
At first, he wasn’t sure that it was Ginny. He has thought, many times, that she didn’t need fancy clothes and perfect makeup to be beautiful, and that was still true. It was also true that it didn’t hurt. She was like a vision as she drifted down the stairs, floaty, iridescent fabric and magically applied sparkles only enhancing the effect.
“Well?” She looked almost nervous as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Do you like it?”
Draco dipped his head, exerting all of his control to appear cool and unaffected. “It’s nice.”
A smile broke out on her face. It was the same, lop-sided grin that she always wore, but it made his stomach flutter just the same. He offered his hand. “We’re late.”
Ginny reigned in her smile, adopting Draco’s own aloof, unreadable expression and permitted herself to be led to the door.
“Aren’t we going to floo?” Ginny asked.
Draco made a sound that communicated, “Certainly not!”, “My parents sent the carpet for me to use.”
Before she could question this answer, he had swept Ginny out onto the front steps. At the bottom, a rich red Aubusson rug was hovering mere inches above the ground.
“Aren’t these illegal?” Ginny asked, her eyes slightly agog as she stepped onto the plush surface and settled onto a silken pillow.
“Illegal to sell, not to own.” Draco replied. He took a seat next to her, and lazily swished his wand.
Ginny yelped quietly as the surface beneath her became firmer, and a clear, bubble surrounded the rug, holding warm air in and blocking the wintry wind.
“Hold on.” Draco said, and flicked his wand again. The carpet rose, and soon they were racing above the clouds.
Draco slid his arm around Ginny’s shoulder, rubbing it in a warming gesture, even though he knew quite well that the enchantment was blocking the chill.
He didn’t want to let himself do it- didn’t want to feel tempted to be tender again, but ultimately lacked the will to stop. I paid for it, after all. He thought grimly. Then, wanting to enjoy the illusion at least, pushed the thought from his mind and snuggled up next to Ginny as they drifted beneath the starry sky.
Ginny seemed to be in an indulgent mood as well. As soon as her nerves about flying had passed, she snuggled into the crook of Draco’s arm, and then tilted up her face to kiss his lips and neck and chin. The caress was almost lazy, and he didn’t pressure her for more. Later. He promised, and contented himself by rubbing her cheek with the back of his hand.
All too soon, the pastures and forests beneath them gave way to tiny houses, then stores, and flats, until they were well and truly over London proper.
“Can’t the Muggles see us?” Ginny asked, peering over the edge of the carpet with interest now.
“No. Its one of the effects of the shielding charm. It seals in the heat, keeps us from falling out, and keeps the Muggles from noticing. It doesn’t come standard- that’s why they’ve had such a problem- crazy old sorcerers cavorting around on moth-eaten Persians and getting spotted,” he explained, not bothering to hide his disgust.
Ginny gripped his arm as the carpet began a tightly spiraling descent into London proper.
“We can’t get to Diagon Alley by air. We’ll land at the Cauldron and walk.”
A few minutes later, they had done just that. Draco tapped his wand on the brick gateway and stepped into the High Street of Wizarding London with Ginny Weasley on his arm.
Draco strolled down Diagon Alley with Ginny’s hand resting lightly in his. He tried not to look at her as they walked, but he could tell by the envious stares of passers-by just how delectable she looked.
They hurried past the row of familiar, slightly shabby shops frequented by schoolchildren crouched against the sidewalk like a row of comfortable shoes. Draco read their names as he passed: Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch, Ollivander’s. Further down the street, looking slightly more modern and polished was Madame Malkin’s Robe For All Occasions. Beyond even that were a row of tiny, miscellaneous establishments, some flats, and finally the exclusive restaurants and boutiques where wizards of the Malfoy’s stature went to see and be seen.
Ginny was walking slower now. In his periphery, he could see her fiery mane swishing from side to side as she moved her head to take in the unfamiliar sights. Fabulous jewels- some cursed and others not- and elegant, statuary was arranged in the broad windows of the shops. Unlike Madame Malkin’s, the robe shops in this section did not display their wares on mannequins to passersby.
Instead, the exclusive boutiques were marked with small, polished signs with wording such as : Succubus, Intl. Fashions and Tailoring for the Discriminating Witch, Hours By Appointment Only.
They continued walking. It was no more than a mile from the heart of Diagon Alley, but they might have been in a completely different world. The buildings were spaced father apart now. In between, he could glimpse the small, lush courtyards of exclusive flats.
At last, they reached their destination, The Glass Slipper.
The Slipper was house in an Edwardian building with a facade very similar to its neighbors. Like the fashion designers, it was marked with only a discreet brass plaque. Draco and Ginny had no more than stepped their foot on the bottom step when the door swung open, propelled by a uniformed servant, rather than magic.
Draco entered the restaurant and was immediately greeted by the maitre-d’, a grey-haired wizard with neatly trimmed hair and dress robes which were almost ridiculously well-starched.
“Mr. Malfoy,” He said with a deep bow, “and Miss....?”
“Ginevra Weasley.” Draco supplied.
The gentleman scribbled something with a gold-plumed quill, then stepped forward, gesturing with his arm that they should follow him behind a velvet curtain.
Draco had seen the slipped a hundred times before, and was patently unimpressed by its luxe interior (which, in his opinion, was no more than the palest imitation of the luxury in the dining room at his home). They walked past several private rooms, ending at last on a large, patio where the rest of Pansy’s party was gathered.
Beside him, Draco heard Ginny suck in her breath.
He had to admit that Pansy’s mother had out-done herself with the decorations. He wondered if he would mention them to his mother- and risk adding more fuel to the social-event arms race currently gripping the society wives that year.
The patio had been (he assumed) surrounded by the same sort of shield which protected the carpet so that, in spite of the cold winter’s night, the air was pleasantly warm and the flowers which bloomed in the gardens bedecked every table were safe from frost. Overhead, the December night was crisp and clear, with stars twinkling as though fairy lights had been strewn across the sky.
Draco’s enjoyment of the beautiful scene was truncated abruptly as a shrill, slightly nasal voice invaded his consciousness. “Draaaaa-co!” Violet Parkinson warbled, rushing toward him, an annoyed looking Pansy following close behind, obviously under duress. “Oh, I’m SO glad that you could come. I was BEREFT when I heard that your mother couldn’t make it. SIMPLY BEREFT.”
He knew that it was silly, but he had to fight the urge to wince at her barking-inflection. “She and father are in America.” He answered cooly.
“They’re...” He swallowed the words “lying low” and said instead, “taking it easy.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Violet Parkinson slid her arm into Draco’s easing him away from Ginny who (remarkably, and without any visible effort), she managed to crowd to the side, as she herded him close to her own, mortified daughter. “Well, it’s been DESOLATE without Narcissa, I must tell you, simply DESOLATE. The parties this year have been such a bore, I tell you. Everyone interesting has been away.”
“Where away equals: ‘In Azkaban’”, Draco inserted mentally.
“There haven’t even been any good weddings. I LOVE weddings.” She gushed, wedging her hip into Pansy so that her daughter was thrust, rather awkwardly, into Draco’s chest. She started to stumble, and he caught her under the arms, pulling her against him to stop from falling.
Violet sighed blissfully.
“Narcissa really MUST come back.” she said dreamily, “We’ve got SO much to talk about!”
Then, with a giggle and a swish of her skirts, she happily turned to attend her other guests.
Pansy extracted herself from Draco and murmured an apology. “Sorry.” She muttered, “Mother’s gotten quite cozy with the florist. They’ve promised her a discount on Gardenia’s in June if she can set a date by the end of the month.”
Draco snorted. It was no secret to him that a Parkinson/Malfoy match had been on Violet’s wish list since before he was even born- back then, she had clung to the hope that Lucius might still set aside Narcissa and take up with one of her frilly, toadish older daughters.
“It’s alright Pans.” Draco said easily, squeezing her shoulder, and then he turned to look for Ginny.
He found her a few feet away, standing along the wall, looking almost breathtakingly beautiful. A flute of champagne was in her hands, and she was laughing- responding to someone nearby had said. Draco sized up Ginny’s companion, instantly placing him merely from the shape of his back. Jealousy flushed his skin, and he stalked over to remove Ginny Weasley from the charming company of one Mr. Cassius Warrington.
"Malfoy, nice to see you again," Warrington said, his teeth shining white in his swarthy face as he turned a polite social smile in Draco's direction.
"Warrington." Draco's voice was practically frosted over as he acknowledged his former Quidditch teammate.
Ginny looked between them in confusion as Warrington laughed. Mustering a smile, he said, "Cassius was just explaining to me some of the history of the Slipper."
"How... Nice of Cassius," gritted Draco, shooting ocular fire at the git in question. "But I'm sure he has somewhere else to be."
Warrington smiled blandly. "No, actually, I was stultifyingly bored until I noticed your lovely and charming date had been heartlessly abandoned." He picked up Ginny's hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, making a blush rise prettily in her cheeks. "It was such a novel thrill rescuing a fair damsel, I think I'm going to have to ask her for a dance so I can prolong the experience."
Draco pulled her away by the elbow hard enough to make her stumble.
"Unfortunately for you, all of Ginny's dances are spoken for." Sneering, he continued, "But don't let us stop you from indulging your new-found instincts for gallantry. Millicent looks like she could use some company."
Three sets of eyes traveled across the room to where Millicent Bulstrode was looking awkward and uncomfortable in a dress that did absolutely nothing for her large figure, her black hair hanging limply in wilted curls. While they watched, though, her face lit up and she sat up straight, completely transformed as Blaise Zabini took her hand and brushed a kiss over her smiling lips before leading her out onto the dance floor. Warrington turned back to Draco and said,
"Well, since it seems she's now busy..."
"May I have this dance, milady?" Ginny looked at Draco over Warrington's bowed head, but just as Draco was about to say something, he was seized around the arm and dragged backwards.
"Oh, I know you'd rather be dancing with my daughter, darling, but surely you can spare a SINGLE waltz for an old and DEAR family friend, right Draco?"
Violet bore her prize off to the dance floor, his mouth forming polite phrases as his gaze promised flaming death to any swarthy gits taking advantage of the situation.
The target of his glares ignored them completely, turning Ginny away so she didn't see Draco's fulminating looks. Draco watched her laugh at something that utter bastard said, then place her delicate hand on his shoulder and flow gracefully into a waltz. He hated it, hated that she could so easily go from him to someone else, hated that she was more beautiful than anything or anyone else, with the candlelight making her eyes sparkle, her dress glittering with the rainbow light reflected from the prisms on the chandeliers, and worst or best of all, her face glowing with happiness. He gritted his teeth, his answers to Violet's constant chattering questions tapering from a monotone to mere grunts as he watched his girl enjoy dancing with someone else.
He lost sight of them for a moment, and that was enough incentive to disentangle himself from Violet's clutches and stalk across the patio serving as a ballroom, ignoring the lavish décor and the people who tried to get his attention as he sought out whatever dark crevice Warrington had lured Ginny to. She might not be everything he had thought, but dammit, she didn't know better than to trust Slytherins. Look at the way they'd gotten her to drink herself into a stupor that first night at the Snake Pit.
The thoughts that occupied Draco grew progressively more lurid, as he pictured Warrington's hands roaming over all the places that Draco had attempted to memorize, and so he was not feeling particularly diplomatic when he finally found him, standing alone in a shadowed corner. The smile he was greeted with was just the final touch to send his anger completely boiling over, and Draco snapped out, "I'd appreciate it, Warrington, if you could buy your own damn girlfriend."
A gasp made Draco look up.
Ginny Weasley was standing only three feet away, suddenly staring at him with glistening eyes.
If everything had ended at Pansy’s party, Ginny could have parted with no regrets. The cruel leer on Draco’s face as he confronted Warrington would have been the last image in her mind, and it would have strengthened her resolve if she ever began to doubt. At the party, he had been the worst version of himself: the spoiled, petulant bully that her friends had warned her about- that she herself had expected to find when he first came into her life.
Looking back, she thought that the thing that hurt the worst was that Draco hadn’t tried to take back his words, or cover what he’d said. Cassius Warrington’s eyes had gone huge, and he had stuttered an excuse to leave, but Draco had simply regarded his date with a cool, unapologetic gaze, “Are we going to dance, Weaslette?” he asked suavely, then moved to take her arm.
It took her a while to realize that he thought she hadn’t overheard. She could have played along. For a moment, it was attractive- the opportunity to simply forget, to tuck that memory away with all the other times that Ginny had felt second-hand and second-rate and otherwise tossed aside. She tried to smile, but the muscles in her cheeks refused to work. She had wanted this fantasy too badly- had wanted to believe that someone would look past the Weasley and see who she was inside- who she could become if she was given a chance.
Draco extended his hand with a flourish- a gesture which would have seemed romantic if she really hadn’t heard his words to Warrington . “I won’t ask twice.” He warned in a teasing tone.
Ginny’s fingers curled into the folds of her dress. They reached toward him.
Then, just before she met Draco’s grasp, something inside her hardened. Her hand hovered motionless mid-air. Then, without warning, it stiffened. Her palm went rigid, broad and flat as she sent it sailing through the air right toward the rakish grin on his annoyingly handsome face.
The smack of flesh against flesh carried over the muted conversations in the room, and everyone around them fell silent at once. Ginny was conscious of their gazes; cognizant their unvoiced thoughts, “Well, what do you expect when you bring one of ‘those people’ to a place like this?”, but she didn’t hold her tongue. She couldn’t. Her relationship with Draco had always been like pushing a boulder uphill. They had crossed its summit long ago. The past two weeks had been nothing but a delay of the inevitable. The downward momentum was now too strong to resist.
“I don’t want to dance with you, Draco Malfoy,” She spat, her entire body trembling with disappointment and rage and other emotions that she wasn’t yet ready to face. “I hate you! I don’t ever want to see you again!”
The object of her outburst blinked, realization dawning slowly on his pointed face. Yet, in spite of the growing red palm print on his cheek, he reached for her again, “Gin...,” his voice was thin and hollow now, “Gin, please! Wait!”
She didn’t wait. She didn’t trust herself to linger any longer. She spun around, nearly colliding with Thalia Muse as she lunged for the door and rushed out into the street.
The icy December air was like a punch in the stomach as she tumbled out into the night and continued to run. There were voices behind her: Draco, and Pansy, and Warrington, but she didn’t stop. She kept moving until the street around her had become shabby again and the leaning timbers of Flourish and Blotts, and Madame Ardrith’s Bakery wrapped around her like folds of a familiar quilt.
The shops were closed now, and there was no place to go. Even if there had been, she was in no shape to be seen. The elegant gown Draco had purchased was wrinkled and splattered with mud. Her hair was in disarray, and her cheeks were splattered with tears. Only as the effects of adrenaline began to fade did she realize that one of her slippers was gone. It had fallen from her foot as she raced away from the restaurant, and was probably lying forgotten in the gutter beside the street.
“Too bad it wasn’t glass.” She thought with grim amusement, recalling the fairy tales that her mother had read to her as a child. Like Cinderella, Ginny had trusted in an illusion to slip inside a world that wasn’t her own. Unlike the storybook princess, however, she hadn’t lasted until midnight, and she had low hopes that her slipper would be found by a prince.
Ginny Weasley had learned her lesson all too well: “Happily ever after” was just a myth.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At some point it began to rain. By the time Cassius Warrington found her huddled behind a post box shivering, miserable, and wet-through, she fully intended never to speak to Draco Malfoy again- assuming that he even attempted communications.
He did.
She had barely returned to the Burrow, sneaking up the back step to avoid explanations, before an eagle-owl tapped on the window, a creamy, thick envelope clenched in its beak. She took one look at the flourished “M” impressed in its wax seal and her eyes narrowed.
It was with great satisfaction that she used an old red crayon to scrawl: “Return to Sender” on the front.
A second owl followed the second day, and was given the same treatment, and though she expected the owls to end, they didn’t. Every morning, without fail, she would find the owl waiting at her window, a heavy letter tied around its leg. It was never the same letter. The envelope was always clean and unblemished- so much so that she wondered why he didn’t resort to writing a note on the outside, or delivering the letter himself- particularly when they returned to school, but she supposed there was a limit to how far Draco Malfoy’s pride would allow him to stoop. So it continued, day by day. Each morning her curiosity grew a little bit stronger about what excuse he possibly had to give, and every night the hurt of the party panging less and less acutely.
Finally, before she realized it was the end of the year. Draco would be gone forever.
She wondered what would happen next.
The Party
Draco didn’t remember the way Ginny looked when she met him for Pansy’s party, so much as he remembered the way that he felt. It was as if everything else in the room had suddenly vanished, focusing all attention solely on her.
At first, he wasn’t sure that it was Ginny. He has thought, many times, that she didn’t need fancy clothes and perfect makeup to be beautiful, and that was still true. It was also true that it didn’t hurt. She was like a vision as she drifted down the stairs, floaty, iridescent fabric and magically applied sparkles only enhancing the effect.
“Well?” She looked almost nervous as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Do you like it?”
Draco dipped his head, exerting all of his control to appear cool and unaffected. “It’s nice.”
A smile broke out on her face. It was the same, lop-sided grin that she always wore, but it made his stomach flutter just the same. He offered his hand. “We’re late.”
Ginny reigned in her smile, adopting Draco’s own aloof, unreadable expression and permitted herself to be led to the door.
“Aren’t we going to floo?” Ginny asked.
Draco made a sound that communicated, “Certainly not!”, “My parents sent the carpet for me to use.”
Before she could question this answer, he had swept Ginny out onto the front steps. At the bottom, a rich red Aubusson rug was hovering mere inches above the ground.
“Aren’t these illegal?” Ginny asked, her eyes slightly agog as she stepped onto the plush surface and settled onto a silken pillow.
“Illegal to sell, not to own.” Draco replied. He took a seat next to her, and lazily swished his wand.
Ginny yelped quietly as the surface beneath her became firmer, and a clear, bubble surrounded the rug, holding warm air in and blocking the wintry wind.
“Hold on.” Draco said, and flicked his wand again. The carpet rose, and soon they were racing above the clouds.
Draco slid his arm around Ginny’s shoulder, rubbing it in a warming gesture, even though he knew quite well that the enchantment was blocking the chill.
He didn’t want to let himself do it- didn’t want to feel tempted to be tender again, but ultimately lacked the will to stop. I paid for it, after all. He thought grimly. Then, wanting to enjoy the illusion at least, pushed the thought from his mind and snuggled up next to Ginny as they drifted beneath the starry sky.
Ginny seemed to be in an indulgent mood as well. As soon as her nerves about flying had passed, she snuggled into the crook of Draco’s arm, and then tilted up her face to kiss his lips and neck and chin. The caress was almost lazy, and he didn’t pressure her for more. Later. He promised, and contented himself by rubbing her cheek with the back of his hand.
All too soon, the pastures and forests beneath them gave way to tiny houses, then stores, and flats, until they were well and truly over London proper.
“Can’t the Muggles see us?” Ginny asked, peering over the edge of the carpet with interest now.
“No. Its one of the effects of the shielding charm. It seals in the heat, keeps us from falling out, and keeps the Muggles from noticing. It doesn’t come standard- that’s why they’ve had such a problem- crazy old sorcerers cavorting around on moth-eaten Persians and getting spotted,” he explained, not bothering to hide his disgust.
Ginny gripped his arm as the carpet began a tightly spiraling descent into London proper.
“We can’t get to Diagon Alley by air. We’ll land at the Cauldron and walk.”
A few minutes later, they had done just that. Draco tapped his wand on the brick gateway and stepped into the High Street of Wizarding London with Ginny Weasley on his arm.
Draco strolled down Diagon Alley with Ginny’s hand resting lightly in his. He tried not to look at her as they walked, but he could tell by the envious stares of passers-by just how delectable she looked.
They hurried past the row of familiar, slightly shabby shops frequented by schoolchildren crouched against the sidewalk like a row of comfortable shoes. Draco read their names as he passed: Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch, Ollivander’s. Further down the street, looking slightly more modern and polished was Madame Malkin’s Robe For All Occasions. Beyond even that were a row of tiny, miscellaneous establishments, some flats, and finally the exclusive restaurants and boutiques where wizards of the Malfoy’s stature went to see and be seen.
Ginny was walking slower now. In his periphery, he could see her fiery mane swishing from side to side as she moved her head to take in the unfamiliar sights. Fabulous jewels- some cursed and others not- and elegant, statuary was arranged in the broad windows of the shops. Unlike Madame Malkin’s, the robe shops in this section did not display their wares on mannequins to passersby.
Instead, the exclusive boutiques were marked with small, polished signs with wording such as : Succubus, Intl. Fashions and Tailoring for the Discriminating Witch, Hours By Appointment Only.
They continued walking. It was no more than a mile from the heart of Diagon Alley, but they might have been in a completely different world. The buildings were spaced father apart now. In between, he could glimpse the small, lush courtyards of exclusive flats.
At last, they reached their destination, The Glass Slipper.
The Slipper was house in an Edwardian building with a facade very similar to its neighbors. Like the fashion designers, it was marked with only a discreet brass plaque. Draco and Ginny had no more than stepped their foot on the bottom step when the door swung open, propelled by a uniformed servant, rather than magic.
Draco entered the restaurant and was immediately greeted by the maitre-d’, a grey-haired wizard with neatly trimmed hair and dress robes which were almost ridiculously well-starched.
“Mr. Malfoy,” He said with a deep bow, “and Miss....?”
“Ginevra Weasley.” Draco supplied.
The gentleman scribbled something with a gold-plumed quill, then stepped forward, gesturing with his arm that they should follow him behind a velvet curtain.
Draco had seen the slipped a hundred times before, and was patently unimpressed by its luxe interior (which, in his opinion, was no more than the palest imitation of the luxury in the dining room at his home). They walked past several private rooms, ending at last on a large, patio where the rest of Pansy’s party was gathered.
Beside him, Draco heard Ginny suck in her breath.
He had to admit that Pansy’s mother had out-done herself with the decorations. He wondered if he would mention them to his mother- and risk adding more fuel to the social-event arms race currently gripping the society wives that year.
The patio had been (he assumed) surrounded by the same sort of shield which protected the carpet so that, in spite of the cold winter’s night, the air was pleasantly warm and the flowers which bloomed in the gardens bedecked every table were safe from frost. Overhead, the December night was crisp and clear, with stars twinkling as though fairy lights had been strewn across the sky.
Draco’s enjoyment of the beautiful scene was truncated abruptly as a shrill, slightly nasal voice invaded his consciousness. “Draaaaa-co!” Violet Parkinson warbled, rushing toward him, an annoyed looking Pansy following close behind, obviously under duress. “Oh, I’m SO glad that you could come. I was BEREFT when I heard that your mother couldn’t make it. SIMPLY BEREFT.”
He knew that it was silly, but he had to fight the urge to wince at her barking-inflection. “She and father are in America.” He answered cooly.
“They’re...” He swallowed the words “lying low” and said instead, “taking it easy.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Violet Parkinson slid her arm into Draco’s easing him away from Ginny who (remarkably, and without any visible effort), she managed to crowd to the side, as she herded him close to her own, mortified daughter. “Well, it’s been DESOLATE without Narcissa, I must tell you, simply DESOLATE. The parties this year have been such a bore, I tell you. Everyone interesting has been away.”
“Where away equals: ‘In Azkaban’”, Draco inserted mentally.
“There haven’t even been any good weddings. I LOVE weddings.” She gushed, wedging her hip into Pansy so that her daughter was thrust, rather awkwardly, into Draco’s chest. She started to stumble, and he caught her under the arms, pulling her against him to stop from falling.
Violet sighed blissfully.
“Narcissa really MUST come back.” she said dreamily, “We’ve got SO much to talk about!”
Then, with a giggle and a swish of her skirts, she happily turned to attend her other guests.
Pansy extracted herself from Draco and murmured an apology. “Sorry.” She muttered, “Mother’s gotten quite cozy with the florist. They’ve promised her a discount on Gardenia’s in June if she can set a date by the end of the month.”
Draco snorted. It was no secret to him that a Parkinson/Malfoy match had been on Violet’s wish list since before he was even born- back then, she had clung to the hope that Lucius might still set aside Narcissa and take up with one of her frilly, toadish older daughters.
“It’s alright Pans.” Draco said easily, squeezing her shoulder, and then he turned to look for Ginny.
He found her a few feet away, standing along the wall, looking almost breathtakingly beautiful. A flute of champagne was in her hands, and she was laughing- responding to someone nearby had said. Draco sized up Ginny’s companion, instantly placing him merely from the shape of his back. Jealousy flushed his skin, and he stalked over to remove Ginny Weasley from the charming company of one Mr. Cassius Warrington.
"Malfoy, nice to see you again," Warrington said, his teeth shining white in his swarthy face as he turned a polite social smile in Draco's direction.
"Warrington." Draco's voice was practically frosted over as he acknowledged his former Quidditch teammate.
Ginny looked between them in confusion as Warrington laughed. Mustering a smile, he said, "Cassius was just explaining to me some of the history of the Slipper."
"How... Nice of Cassius," gritted Draco, shooting ocular fire at the git in question. "But I'm sure he has somewhere else to be."
Warrington smiled blandly. "No, actually, I was stultifyingly bored until I noticed your lovely and charming date had been heartlessly abandoned." He picked up Ginny's hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, making a blush rise prettily in her cheeks. "It was such a novel thrill rescuing a fair damsel, I think I'm going to have to ask her for a dance so I can prolong the experience."
Draco pulled her away by the elbow hard enough to make her stumble.
"Unfortunately for you, all of Ginny's dances are spoken for." Sneering, he continued, "But don't let us stop you from indulging your new-found instincts for gallantry. Millicent looks like she could use some company."
Three sets of eyes traveled across the room to where Millicent Bulstrode was looking awkward and uncomfortable in a dress that did absolutely nothing for her large figure, her black hair hanging limply in wilted curls. While they watched, though, her face lit up and she sat up straight, completely transformed as Blaise Zabini took her hand and brushed a kiss over her smiling lips before leading her out onto the dance floor. Warrington turned back to Draco and said,
"Well, since it seems she's now busy..."
"May I have this dance, milady?" Ginny looked at Draco over Warrington's bowed head, but just as Draco was about to say something, he was seized around the arm and dragged backwards.
"Oh, I know you'd rather be dancing with my daughter, darling, but surely you can spare a SINGLE waltz for an old and DEAR family friend, right Draco?"
Violet bore her prize off to the dance floor, his mouth forming polite phrases as his gaze promised flaming death to any swarthy gits taking advantage of the situation.
The target of his glares ignored them completely, turning Ginny away so she didn't see Draco's fulminating looks. Draco watched her laugh at something that utter bastard said, then place her delicate hand on his shoulder and flow gracefully into a waltz. He hated it, hated that she could so easily go from him to someone else, hated that she was more beautiful than anything or anyone else, with the candlelight making her eyes sparkle, her dress glittering with the rainbow light reflected from the prisms on the chandeliers, and worst or best of all, her face glowing with happiness. He gritted his teeth, his answers to Violet's constant chattering questions tapering from a monotone to mere grunts as he watched his girl enjoy dancing with someone else.
He lost sight of them for a moment, and that was enough incentive to disentangle himself from Violet's clutches and stalk across the patio serving as a ballroom, ignoring the lavish décor and the people who tried to get his attention as he sought out whatever dark crevice Warrington had lured Ginny to. She might not be everything he had thought, but dammit, she didn't know better than to trust Slytherins. Look at the way they'd gotten her to drink herself into a stupor that first night at the Snake Pit.
The thoughts that occupied Draco grew progressively more lurid, as he pictured Warrington's hands roaming over all the places that Draco had attempted to memorize, and so he was not feeling particularly diplomatic when he finally found him, standing alone in a shadowed corner. The smile he was greeted with was just the final touch to send his anger completely boiling over, and Draco snapped out, "I'd appreciate it, Warrington, if you could buy your own damn girlfriend."
A gasp made Draco look up.
Ginny Weasley was standing only three feet away, suddenly staring at him with glistening eyes.
If everything had ended at Pansy’s party, Ginny could have parted with no regrets. The cruel leer on Draco’s face as he confronted Warrington would have been the last image in her mind, and it would have strengthened her resolve if she ever began to doubt. At the party, he had been the worst version of himself: the spoiled, petulant bully that her friends had warned her about- that she herself had expected to find when he first came into her life.
Looking back, she thought that the thing that hurt the worst was that Draco hadn’t tried to take back his words, or cover what he’d said. Cassius Warrington’s eyes had gone huge, and he had stuttered an excuse to leave, but Draco had simply regarded his date with a cool, unapologetic gaze, “Are we going to dance, Weaslette?” he asked suavely, then moved to take her arm.
It took her a while to realize that he thought she hadn’t overheard. She could have played along. For a moment, it was attractive- the opportunity to simply forget, to tuck that memory away with all the other times that Ginny had felt second-hand and second-rate and otherwise tossed aside. She tried to smile, but the muscles in her cheeks refused to work. She had wanted this fantasy too badly- had wanted to believe that someone would look past the Weasley and see who she was inside- who she could become if she was given a chance.
Draco extended his hand with a flourish- a gesture which would have seemed romantic if she really hadn’t heard his words to Warrington . “I won’t ask twice.” He warned in a teasing tone.
Ginny’s fingers curled into the folds of her dress. They reached toward him.
Then, just before she met Draco’s grasp, something inside her hardened. Her hand hovered motionless mid-air. Then, without warning, it stiffened. Her palm went rigid, broad and flat as she sent it sailing through the air right toward the rakish grin on his annoyingly handsome face.
The smack of flesh against flesh carried over the muted conversations in the room, and everyone around them fell silent at once. Ginny was conscious of their gazes; cognizant their unvoiced thoughts, “Well, what do you expect when you bring one of ‘those people’ to a place like this?”, but she didn’t hold her tongue. She couldn’t. Her relationship with Draco had always been like pushing a boulder uphill. They had crossed its summit long ago. The past two weeks had been nothing but a delay of the inevitable. The downward momentum was now too strong to resist.
“I don’t want to dance with you, Draco Malfoy,” She spat, her entire body trembling with disappointment and rage and other emotions that she wasn’t yet ready to face. “I hate you! I don’t ever want to see you again!”
The object of her outburst blinked, realization dawning slowly on his pointed face. Yet, in spite of the growing red palm print on his cheek, he reached for her again, “Gin...,” his voice was thin and hollow now, “Gin, please! Wait!”
She didn’t wait. She didn’t trust herself to linger any longer. She spun around, nearly colliding with Thalia Muse as she lunged for the door and rushed out into the street.
The icy December air was like a punch in the stomach as she tumbled out into the night and continued to run. There were voices behind her: Draco, and Pansy, and Warrington, but she didn’t stop. She kept moving until the street around her had become shabby again and the leaning timbers of Flourish and Blotts, and Madame Ardrith’s Bakery wrapped around her like folds of a familiar quilt.
The shops were closed now, and there was no place to go. Even if there had been, she was in no shape to be seen. The elegant gown Draco had purchased was wrinkled and splattered with mud. Her hair was in disarray, and her cheeks were splattered with tears. Only as the effects of adrenaline began to fade did she realize that one of her slippers was gone. It had fallen from her foot as she raced away from the restaurant, and was probably lying forgotten in the gutter beside the street.
“Too bad it wasn’t glass.” She thought with grim amusement, recalling the fairy tales that her mother had read to her as a child. Like Cinderella, Ginny had trusted in an illusion to slip inside a world that wasn’t her own. Unlike the storybook princess, however, she hadn’t lasted until midnight, and she had low hopes that her slipper would be found by a prince.
Ginny Weasley had learned her lesson all too well: “Happily ever after” was just a myth.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At some point it began to rain. By the time Cassius Warrington found her huddled behind a post box shivering, miserable, and wet-through, she fully intended never to speak to Draco Malfoy again- assuming that he even attempted communications.
He did.
She had barely returned to the Burrow, sneaking up the back step to avoid explanations, before an eagle-owl tapped on the window, a creamy, thick envelope clenched in its beak. She took one look at the flourished “M” impressed in its wax seal and her eyes narrowed.
It was with great satisfaction that she used an old red crayon to scrawl: “Return to Sender” on the front.
A second owl followed the second day, and was given the same treatment, and though she expected the owls to end, they didn’t. Every morning, without fail, she would find the owl waiting at her window, a heavy letter tied around its leg. It was never the same letter. The envelope was always clean and unblemished- so much so that she wondered why he didn’t resort to writing a note on the outside, or delivering the letter himself- particularly when they returned to school, but she supposed there was a limit to how far Draco Malfoy’s pride would allow him to stoop. So it continued, day by day. Each morning her curiosity grew a little bit stronger about what excuse he possibly had to give, and every night the hurt of the party panging less and less acutely.
Finally, before she realized it was the end of the year. Draco would be gone forever.
She wondered what would happen next.
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