Chapter 8
Gifts
“Ah, here it is!” Ginny was dragged from her thoughts by the smooth, cheerful voice of Narcissa Malfoy. After Draco’s departure, their conversation had drifted back to the debutante ball. Ginny hadn’t been in much of a mood for conversation but, caught up in her own memories, Mrs. Malfoy hadn’t seemed to mind. She had recounted her own Debut in infestimenal detail. After the elves had cleared the tea things away, she had invited Ginny back into the house.
“I know just where the trunk is!” She said in an animated tone, then turned to order yet another house-elf to toddle up to the attic. “I’d better go with him, sweeting, to make sure that he fetches the right one. Do make yourself at home.”
Ginny nodded, relieved by the prospect of a few moments alone. With a soft *pop*and a swish of her wand, Narcissa had disapparated from the room, leaving Ginny by herself.
Draco had assured his mother that he was returning to the office in London. So, for the first time all day, Ginny found herself completely solitary, and at last she had the freedom to examine her surroundings without any fear of permitting her wonder, or envy, to show.
The room she occupied was well proportioned: high ceilings, long walls, with delicate mouldings at the crown and intricate impressions in the plastered ceilings. The walls were covered in embossed leather- a subtle, rich color and texture that was expensive without being ostentatious. The furnishings were fine antiques.
Ginny remembered, with a pang, Lucius’s Malfoy’s taunt to her father at the Quidditch World Cup Finals when Ireland had played Bulgaria. He had sneered at the idea that the Weasleys could afford tickets, taunting, “Surely your house wouldn’t fetch this much.” Grudgingly she admitted that even one of the shining, fruitwood tables that lined the walls almost certainly would be more valuable than her home.
A troubled smirk hovered on her lips as she ran her palm over the smooth surface, and she couldn’t prevent the thought that pounded insistently in her head: “All this nearly was mine.”
Almost.
“Just carry it in here….that’s right. Just in the drawing room.”
Ginny tensed as she heard Narcissa return. She shifted to face the door.
Mrs. Malfoy slipped inside gracefully, followed by a struggling house elf porting a trunk easily four times its size. “Next to the sofa,” she commanded, and then kicked the little elf soundly in the shin when it didn’t move quickly enough.
With a squeak of pain, the servant did as it was told and then, after a curt nod from its mistress, skittered from the room. Narcissa settled on the couch in front of the trunk, the ugly glare she had employed while dealing with the elf replaced by a gentle smile. “Well, here we are,” she said warmly, beckoning Ginny closer. “I knew I could find it. All of my old deb things.” With a flick of her rosewood wand, the latch of the trunk sprang free and the heavy lid floated open.
The scent of gardenias instantly filled the room, and Ginny closed her eyes to savor the vivid images that the fragrance inspired. Narcissa reached into the box and began retrieving objects from its depths.
The smaller items had been packed on top: a pair of silken gloves, a handbag, and a velvet box that she settled almost reverently on her lap.
“Here’s my dance card!” She said excitedly, and retrieved a miniature booklet of ivory leather, its vellum pages edged in gold. A gold tasseled strap was affixed to the spine, along with a tiny pencil on a glittering chain. “You wear them around your wrist.” Narcissa explained, demonstrating. “If a gentleman wants to claim a dance, he takes your hand, like so,” she extended her palm face up, lifting it to an imagined suitor, “And he inscribes his name.” Her blue eyes skimmed over the pages. Her lips twitched into a smile at some of the names.
“Did you have many dances with Mr. Malfoy?” Ginny asked, feeling awkward to interrupt Narcissa’s reminisces, but fearing that it was impolite to merely sit in silence.
“Lucius? Merlin, no!” Narcissa’s eyes glittered as she laughed. “My father would have killed me first. He hated the Malfoys- especially Lucius’s father!” Noticing the look of disbelief on her young guest’s face, she explained. “New money you know.” She half whispered, as if Ginny weren’t the only other person in the room and she wasn’t speaking of the family whose name she now bore. “Why they’ve had this house less than four hundred years!” She said without a hint of irony. “Lucius’s great, great, great, great, great grandfather was in trade!”
Ginny’s lips twisted in bemusement, but her only response was a nod.
“He hated the Malfoy’s.” Ginny wondered if she sensed a pattern- or, possible, history repeating itself? No. She bit her lip, dragging her mind away from the conclusion it wished to reach. It wasn’t the same thing at all.
“But you married him!” Ginny exclaimed. “What happened?”
“Andromeda.” Narcissa supplied, setting the dance card on her lap and extracting a pair of glass-heeled shoes. “After my sister married a mudblood it didn’t seem so bad.”
Ginny winced slightly at the easy way that “mudblood” rolled off Narcissa’s tongue, but she forgot her indignation at the epithet when Narcissa pulled a heavy bundle of fabric into her lap. The top layer was faded muslin, but this was quickly stripped away to reveal a carefully preserved confection of organza and silk. It had a simple sleeveless bodice and full tea-length skirt but was overlaid with sheer, hand-embroidered lace. A row of tiny, pearl buttons marched up the back, and glittering lights had been charmed into the thread.
“My gown.” Narcissa said dreamily, and stood, holding it against her figure.
Mrs. Malfoy’s debutante ball might have been twenty years in the past, but Ginny had to admit that both the dress and its owner had aged well. With a lazy flick of her wand Narcissa conjured a mirror and then stood, admiring herself for a moment. At last, she turned back to Ginny. “Would you like to try it on?”
“Try it on?” Ginny gasped in disbelief.
“Yes.” Narcissa chuckled at her guest’s reaction. “Just to get a feel for it? Here.” She moved to unzip Ginny’s robe.
Ginny jumped, her hands closing instinctively over the chain that held Draco’s ring. Narcissa misinterpreted the reaction as modesty. “You can change in the powder room if you'd like.”
A few minutes later, Draco’s ring was safely tucked in her pocket, and Ginny was sliding the gown over her head. It felt even more expensive than it looked. Even the underskirt was silk, and it was covered with three tiers of organza so that it rustled when she walked.
“Beautiful!” Narcissa declared, when Ginny emerged. Taking the younger woman’s shoulders, she steered her toward the mirror.
Ginny stared. She looked like a princess- a fairy princess from one of her books at home, not the Muggle sort who were always getting themselves in trouble and making the news. The gown looked like something that had been created in a dream.
“Too tight about the chest.” Narcissa said wistfully,” But lovely. Here…” Her voice trailed off as she crossed the room, moving toward the sofa where the other contents of the trunk were strewn about. She picked up the velvet box that she had put aside and carried it back to Ginny. She lifted the lid slowly. For the second time in half an hour, Ginny exhaled a sigh of awe.
It was a tiara, small but exquisite. The rows of rhinestones- no, those are probably real diamonds, Ginny thought- were arranged to mimic a cluster of tiny blossoms.
“Do you like it?” Narcissa asked. She lifted it carefully from the box and arranged it in Ginny’s hair. “I had hoped to give it to our daughter but…”
Ginny thought she heard a choke in Narcissa’s voice, and she eyed her hostess’s reflection in the mirror to find that her eyes were misted with tears.
“Is something wrong?” She asked gently.
Narcissa waved the question away. “No. It’s nothing.” She took a step back, admiring the complete effect. “You look lovely.”
Ginny jumped when another voice joined the fray. “I would have to say that I agree.”
Ginny stiffened at the sound of Draco’s voice, but didn’t turn around.
“Darling!” Narcissa smiled and turned. “I thought you were going into the office.”
“I left some scrolls that I needed.”
Ginny could feel his eyes on her back, but she didn’t dare look into the mirror and check his reflection and see if her suspicions were true.
“Miss Weasley and I were going through some of my old things.” Narcissa explained, prodding Ginny to turn around and face her son. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Draco grunted in agreement.
“It’s my old gown. It suits her, I think…” She narrowed her eyes in scrutiny, “Although maybe an ivory silk would work better with her hair. I don’t think that all the girls just wear white anymore…” Narcissa continued speaking, oblivious to Draco and Ginny’s silence. She turned back to the girl. “What colour is your dress?”
Ginny felt her cheeks begin to burn. She hadn’t thought about her own gown. She was sure that the dress she was wearing cost thousands of galleons. There was no way that her family would be able to scrape together that kind of money merely to save face- even if her brothers chipped in.
“I haven’t got one yet.”
“Haven’t gotten one?” Narcissa gasped.
“Er….no.” Ginny answered quietly, praying that Narcissa would let the matter drop.
“But sweeting, you must!” Mrs. Malfoy’s tone was astonished. “All the best gowns will be taken by now. You don’t want to end up with something from Malkin’s” She spoke the shop name as if it were a plague, “You could go to Paris, I suppose, their season is later, but you still don’t have much time, unless-”
“Ginny’s having her dress custom made,” Draco’s voice inserted smoothly, “Aren’t you, Gin?”
It was news to Ginny, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to accept his help. She didn’t want to be rescued again, but there didn’t seem to be a choice. She couldn’t bear the thought of standing in Narcissa Malfoy’s parlor, swathed in the most decadent silk confection that she had ever seen much less worn, wilting under the scrutiny of a man she might have loved, and confessing that the most likely plan was to borrow her mother’s cousin’s husband’s sister’s dress from nine years past, and if that didn’t work out, her mother would sew something from scratch. She was tired of being second rate. She was enjoying pretending to be a princess, and she wasn’t ready for the illusion to end.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was strange how Draco always seemed to catch her lacking the proper attire.
Everything had started with a dress. More accurately, it had started with a skirt: a black velvet skirt that fell just above Ginny’s knees that arrived a few days after the infamous broom closet incident along with a note pinned to its hem:
Library.
Study Room C.
7 o’clock.
You don’t have an excuse this time.
,DBM
She had debated whether or not to go. All week, Ginny had been sulking about what had happened, weighing the excitement of kissing Draco Malfoy against the almost certain knowledge that he was either pursuing a hidden agenda now, or would only sneer at her memory someday, and trying to decide if she could bear it. In the end, her struggle didn’t last long. She was sixteen years old, she’d liked snogging him, and she was starting to discover that she didn’t know as much about Draco Malfoy as she thought she did. Besides, she was a Gryffindor. Wasn’t she supposed to be brave?
That night, Ginny slid her hips into the skirt, threw on another shrunken sweater and met him like he asked.
“Nice Weaslette.” He said when he saw her, giving Ginny a slow, scorching appraisal that she felt in the bottom of her toes.
She forced a cool reply. “I thought you said you weren’t looking at my skirt.”
“I’m looking at your arse,” he answered with a cheeky grin, “Unfortunately, I haven’t mastered the charm to see through clothing…yet.”
“Our Malfoy, lacking in charms?” She said in a mock-scandalized tone.
“Hardly.” His eyes continued to rake her body. “Shall I prove it?”
She really hadn’t expected him to kiss him again so soon. During the summer, when she had dated Harry, they would talk for hours before he would work up the nerve to brush a closed-mouth kiss against her lips or, (if he was filling particularly daring) to skim his hands over the front of her shirt.
Draco wasn’t wasting any time.
Ginny wasn’t complaining.
The moment that his lips met hers, his hands were roaming over her body. He started at her shoulders, drawing her against his chest, and then the warm palms moved downwards resting on the base of her spine. His tongue flicked against her lips. Then, when they parted, pushed inside to explore the warm hollow of her mouth.
When he finally drew away, Ginny was breathless and flushed- and alarmed by Draco’s expression.
He was staring at her as if he expected her to speak. After more than a minute of floundering for something to say, she finally blurted: “I liked my present.”
“Your present?” He looked momentarily confused, and then another wicked smile unfurled on his lips.
“My skirt.”
“Oh? Who said that was a present for you?”
She felt a giddy lightness in her stomach at his playful tone. “Do you like the way it looks?”
His fingers gripped the curve of her arse and she felt his breath against her neck as he whispered. “I like the way it feels.”
There was no way to tell where it might have ended up if Madame Pince hadn’t interrupted.
“You’re bending the spines of those books!” Ginny mocked after they were safely out of the library. The horrified librarian- purposefully diverting her eyes from the pawing teenagers, had rushed to the rescue of her beloved books, shooing them both back into the hall.
Draco snickered at Ginny’s mimicry and then added, “She’s lucky she came before I got my bookmark in your pages.”
Ginny shivered and blushed, but followed him through the corridors and then outside. They walked hand-in-hand until they came to the edge of the Forbidden Forest where a stable of sorts had been constructed to house one of Hagrid’s assorted beasts but was empty now. They climbed up to the loft and laid together in the sweet-smelling hay, Draco's chin resting on her shoulder and his arms around her waist as they watched the moonrise and the glow of fairies and will-o-wisps moving in the forest below.
The next Wednesday Ginny received another parcel: a shirt of slick emerald silk and a note that read:
Greenhouse Three. Seven O’clock. Don’t be late.
She wasn’t.
Draco met her under an arch of roses that closed behind her, enclosing them in a fragrant bower. His lips covered hers as his arms surrounded her body. Warm hands skimmed the thin fabric of her shirt until her skin felt liquid beneath.
“What are you doing?” She gasped between kisses.
Draco leered. “Making sure that I still like what I feel.”
“And do you?”
She didn’t really need to ask.
The next week’s offering was a nubby sweater, a corduroy skirt and a picnic by the lake. His long fingers explored every bump and ridge of the barrier between their skin as they lay in the tall grasses by the water’s edge.
The fourth week, he sent satin knickers.
The fifth week, he sent nothing at all.
~*~*~*~*~*~
In retrospect, telling Hermione might have been a mistake.
Gin had felt confident during her five week courtship by Draco with confiding in Pansy alone, but the most recent gift- or rather, lack thereof had left her needing more. She adored Pansy, but sometimes doubted that the Slytherin girl could truly relate to Ginny’s life. Hermione had seen it. Hermione had been to the Burrow. She had lived through Molly’s scolding and the twins teasing.
She understood.
Her reaction had been about what Ginny expected: shock, disbelief, and then a reluctant, suspicious acceptance.
“Let me get this straight, Ginny.” She said, her face screwed up in concentration as though she was pondering a problem for arithmancy. “You’ve been seeing Draco Malfoy,” She said the name as if it were some particularly repugnant potions ingredient, “ for the past month…”
“Five weeks!” Ginny corrected.
“Five weeks.” Hermione rolled her eyes, “And you’ve been accepting presents for him to…feel.”
Ginny frowned, disliking the implication in Hermione’s voice. “He’s never tried anything!” She defended.
“Yet.”
A moment of silence hung between the two girls before Hermione elaborated. “You said that he didn’t send a gift with the last note.”
“No.”
“And that means…?” When Ginny didn’t answer immediately, Hermione sighed, “Ginny, you really don’t need me to figure this out for you- he’s asking you for sex.”
Ginny was slightly startled by her bluntness. “Maybe,” She conceded after a long pause.
“C’mon Gin, what else is he going to want from…” Hermione bit her tongue. Her face flushed in realization that, once again, she had spoken too much without thinking.
Ginny’s brown eyes flashed with anger. “What could he possibly want from who? Poor, raggedy, second-hand Ginny Weasley?”
Hermione cringed at the well-merited attack, but held her ground. “I didn’t mean it to be cruel, Gin, but think about it. What do you have that Draco wants? Do you honestly think that he loves you? That he means to marry you? Will he ever bring your relationship out into the open?”
“You don’t know him! He..he likes to talk to me!” Ginny retorted, but her mouth went dry as she realized the lie. It seemed like she and Draco liked to talk. There was never an awkward silence, and she felt comfortable telling him what she wanted. The truth was,however, during their meetings they rarely spoke. Their mouths were usually otherwise occupied, as they communicated with touch, rather than sound.
“I just want you to be sure,” Hermione said, “It’s an awful big step if you’re not.”
Ginny had continued staring at the open doorway of her room for several minutes after Hermione left. The other occupants of the room had already disappeared for the evening. Most of them were enjoying the grounds, or seeking out the dark corners of the castle with the boy of their choice. A few lingered in the common room. From time to time, the sound of their laughter would float up the stairs, breaking the silence that was nearly complete, save the ominous ticking of the clock. Ginny should have left already if she was going to be on time. Was he Draco waiting? He hated waiting…yet, why should she cater to his whims?
Ginny groaned and threw herself back on the bed, staring into the heavy velvet draperies that surrounded it. They cast deep shadows across her face. Up until that moment, everything in her relationship with Draco had been easy. She never would have expected the course of events to unfold as they had, but it had all felt natural, like water moving along the course of a stream, flowing naturally to the path of least resistance. It was as though she had hit a dam. Now all of her emotions were building up inside, pressing against the barrier which would decide if she was tamed or broke free.
Ginny didn’t know what to do. In some ways, she was even more confused now than before she had spoken to Hermione. Still, her friend’s question echoed in her mind.
Was she sure? How could she be? Draco didn’t love her- at least, he’d never said that he loved her. Did she need him to be in love? Was she? Did she want to be?
“Yes, yes, yes,” her heart and mind cried out in unison. She pressed her lids together, trying to staunch the flow of tears suddenly pooling there. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but she was nearly convinced t hat she was in love with the Draco- and not in the sense of a puppyish crush like she had been with Harry. Sometime since their meetings had began, something subtle had changed. He was her first thought upon waking, and the last before she closed her eyes at night. He haunted her thoughts through out the day, filtering what she learned and saw through the notion of : “I wonder what Draco would think…”.
Wednesday- the day that her weekly owl and present arrived- had become her favorite day. She awaited the post with the jittery excitement of an addict about to receive a drug, all nervous, fidgety tension, followed by ecstatic release. How had it all gone wrong?
Hermione had been irrefutably right about a lot of things. There wasn’t a real chance for the relationship to grow. As much fun as she had fumbling around in study rooms and storage halls, there seemed to be little chance for more.
She couldn’t imagine Draco introducing her to his family- a lowly Weasley (And come to think of it, she wouldn’t want to be in Draco’s shoes if she ever brought him home to the Burrow)- but, if he didn’t love her, and didn’t want a relationship, what did that leave?
Sex.
The conclusion was unavoidable, even if it cut her to the bone, and even though she hated herself, she wondered if that was enough- if maybe it wasn’t worth it to be with Draco and love him even if she was never loved back. After all, that was her typical M.O, wasn’t it? She thought bitterly. She could be the poster child for unrequited love.
Yet, even her present misery wasn’t enough to banish the memory of his warm hands brushing over her skin, or to quiet the small voice daring her to hope: “He might love me. He hasn’t said that he doesn’t either.”
Ginny closed her eyes, trying to remember all the touches they had shared, wishing that she could use them to decipher his true intent. Then, lost in her memories, and without really meaning to, she slowly drifted to sleep.
Ginny felt a pair of arms wind around her waist and draw her into a pocket of warmth. Reaching forward, she found the source of the heat: a well-muscled torso that she had grown to know by touch alone. Her eyes flew open, and sparkled when she confirmed her suspicion.
“Draco.” She whispered.
He answered with a soft smile. “Good morning, beautiful,” and then he leaned forward to kiss her neck, nibbling up the tendon in her neck until he was nuzzling her ear.
“Draco!” She giggled, closing her eyes again and winding her arms around his neck. “You came and found me.”
“Always.” He whispered. Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew that he wore a wolfish grin. “I came to check out my present.”
“Oh?”
“I want to know if I like how it feels.” He purred, and one long finger slipped beneath the strap of a silk nightgown that she didn’t remember owning, much less putting on.
The touch of his finger was a paradox: a flash of heat that sent a chill down her spine. Small shudders traveled through every nerve, ending at the tips of her toes.
“Draco…” She felt a momentary flutter of panic. “Are we….are you…?”
“Sure?” He asked, and lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Of course, I’m sure Gin.” She was vaguely aware that his other hand hadn’t stopped moving. It had eased the nightgown off of her shoulders and over her chest, exposing her freckled breasts. “I love you, Ginny.” He said planitively, and she felt a second shudder, this one a physical reaction to the pure emotional power of the words.
“You-?” She started to blubber, shocked, even as a giddy lightness was enveloping her.
“Love you.” Draco whispered. “All of you. I just want to show you how much.”
She opened her eyes at last, staring into his stormcloud eyes. The pupils were narrowed with desire, and when she bucked up against him, she felt further evidence of his desire.
“How do you want to show me?” Ginny pushed, tipping her hips against him again, grinding a slow circle against his hips.
He groaned. “You’re going to find out really soon if you keep doing that…” he said in a strained tone, and then he dipped his head to capture her nipple between his teeth and tongue.
Her breath came out in a hiss as he sucked on the tender flesh. “Do you like that.” He lifted his head to query. It was agony to loose even a second of contact. He leaned his head back against her bosom, and she felt a smile curl on his lips. “There’s more to like.”
One of his hands moved heavily down her side, taking the nightgown with it. He stopped at the fullness of her hips, cradling her once more against him before he released her, then rocked back to sit on his knees and stripped away his own shirt.
He was beautiful- all lean muscles and pale skin. Ginny felt a little swoon of pleasure as he reached for the button of his trousers and began to inch them over his narrow hips.
“Do you want this, Ginny?”
“Yes.” She replied without hesitation, and his eyes darkened again. Draco's trousers were stripped away, and he leaned forward to pin her with his body again. His lips sought her mouth as his hands roamed wantonly over every inch of her flesh.
”Ginny…” he said her name like a prayer, whispering it again and again.
“Ginny, Ginny, my Ginny…”
“Ginny?”
That didn’t sound like Draco’s voice. Ginny frowned, feeling a stab of panic as the scene around her began to melt away. It had sounded like…
“Ginny? Are you still in bed?”
Hermione!
“Ginny, there you are!” The voice was louder now. “Rise and shine
sleepyhead. You’ve got a Quidditch match to play.”
Ginny felt her stomach twist as realization dawned: She had been asleep.
Everything had been a dream…and she had missed the date!
Gifts
“Ah, here it is!” Ginny was dragged from her thoughts by the smooth, cheerful voice of Narcissa Malfoy. After Draco’s departure, their conversation had drifted back to the debutante ball. Ginny hadn’t been in much of a mood for conversation but, caught up in her own memories, Mrs. Malfoy hadn’t seemed to mind. She had recounted her own Debut in infestimenal detail. After the elves had cleared the tea things away, she had invited Ginny back into the house.
“I know just where the trunk is!” She said in an animated tone, then turned to order yet another house-elf to toddle up to the attic. “I’d better go with him, sweeting, to make sure that he fetches the right one. Do make yourself at home.”
Ginny nodded, relieved by the prospect of a few moments alone. With a soft *pop*and a swish of her wand, Narcissa had disapparated from the room, leaving Ginny by herself.
Draco had assured his mother that he was returning to the office in London. So, for the first time all day, Ginny found herself completely solitary, and at last she had the freedom to examine her surroundings without any fear of permitting her wonder, or envy, to show.
The room she occupied was well proportioned: high ceilings, long walls, with delicate mouldings at the crown and intricate impressions in the plastered ceilings. The walls were covered in embossed leather- a subtle, rich color and texture that was expensive without being ostentatious. The furnishings were fine antiques.
Ginny remembered, with a pang, Lucius’s Malfoy’s taunt to her father at the Quidditch World Cup Finals when Ireland had played Bulgaria. He had sneered at the idea that the Weasleys could afford tickets, taunting, “Surely your house wouldn’t fetch this much.” Grudgingly she admitted that even one of the shining, fruitwood tables that lined the walls almost certainly would be more valuable than her home.
A troubled smirk hovered on her lips as she ran her palm over the smooth surface, and she couldn’t prevent the thought that pounded insistently in her head: “All this nearly was mine.”
Almost.
“Just carry it in here….that’s right. Just in the drawing room.”
Ginny tensed as she heard Narcissa return. She shifted to face the door.
Mrs. Malfoy slipped inside gracefully, followed by a struggling house elf porting a trunk easily four times its size. “Next to the sofa,” she commanded, and then kicked the little elf soundly in the shin when it didn’t move quickly enough.
With a squeak of pain, the servant did as it was told and then, after a curt nod from its mistress, skittered from the room. Narcissa settled on the couch in front of the trunk, the ugly glare she had employed while dealing with the elf replaced by a gentle smile. “Well, here we are,” she said warmly, beckoning Ginny closer. “I knew I could find it. All of my old deb things.” With a flick of her rosewood wand, the latch of the trunk sprang free and the heavy lid floated open.
The scent of gardenias instantly filled the room, and Ginny closed her eyes to savor the vivid images that the fragrance inspired. Narcissa reached into the box and began retrieving objects from its depths.
The smaller items had been packed on top: a pair of silken gloves, a handbag, and a velvet box that she settled almost reverently on her lap.
“Here’s my dance card!” She said excitedly, and retrieved a miniature booklet of ivory leather, its vellum pages edged in gold. A gold tasseled strap was affixed to the spine, along with a tiny pencil on a glittering chain. “You wear them around your wrist.” Narcissa explained, demonstrating. “If a gentleman wants to claim a dance, he takes your hand, like so,” she extended her palm face up, lifting it to an imagined suitor, “And he inscribes his name.” Her blue eyes skimmed over the pages. Her lips twitched into a smile at some of the names.
“Did you have many dances with Mr. Malfoy?” Ginny asked, feeling awkward to interrupt Narcissa’s reminisces, but fearing that it was impolite to merely sit in silence.
“Lucius? Merlin, no!” Narcissa’s eyes glittered as she laughed. “My father would have killed me first. He hated the Malfoys- especially Lucius’s father!” Noticing the look of disbelief on her young guest’s face, she explained. “New money you know.” She half whispered, as if Ginny weren’t the only other person in the room and she wasn’t speaking of the family whose name she now bore. “Why they’ve had this house less than four hundred years!” She said without a hint of irony. “Lucius’s great, great, great, great, great grandfather was in trade!”
Ginny’s lips twisted in bemusement, but her only response was a nod.
“He hated the Malfoy’s.” Ginny wondered if she sensed a pattern- or, possible, history repeating itself? No. She bit her lip, dragging her mind away from the conclusion it wished to reach. It wasn’t the same thing at all.
“But you married him!” Ginny exclaimed. “What happened?”
“Andromeda.” Narcissa supplied, setting the dance card on her lap and extracting a pair of glass-heeled shoes. “After my sister married a mudblood it didn’t seem so bad.”
Ginny winced slightly at the easy way that “mudblood” rolled off Narcissa’s tongue, but she forgot her indignation at the epithet when Narcissa pulled a heavy bundle of fabric into her lap. The top layer was faded muslin, but this was quickly stripped away to reveal a carefully preserved confection of organza and silk. It had a simple sleeveless bodice and full tea-length skirt but was overlaid with sheer, hand-embroidered lace. A row of tiny, pearl buttons marched up the back, and glittering lights had been charmed into the thread.
“My gown.” Narcissa said dreamily, and stood, holding it against her figure.
Mrs. Malfoy’s debutante ball might have been twenty years in the past, but Ginny had to admit that both the dress and its owner had aged well. With a lazy flick of her wand Narcissa conjured a mirror and then stood, admiring herself for a moment. At last, she turned back to Ginny. “Would you like to try it on?”
“Try it on?” Ginny gasped in disbelief.
“Yes.” Narcissa chuckled at her guest’s reaction. “Just to get a feel for it? Here.” She moved to unzip Ginny’s robe.
Ginny jumped, her hands closing instinctively over the chain that held Draco’s ring. Narcissa misinterpreted the reaction as modesty. “You can change in the powder room if you'd like.”
A few minutes later, Draco’s ring was safely tucked in her pocket, and Ginny was sliding the gown over her head. It felt even more expensive than it looked. Even the underskirt was silk, and it was covered with three tiers of organza so that it rustled when she walked.
“Beautiful!” Narcissa declared, when Ginny emerged. Taking the younger woman’s shoulders, she steered her toward the mirror.
Ginny stared. She looked like a princess- a fairy princess from one of her books at home, not the Muggle sort who were always getting themselves in trouble and making the news. The gown looked like something that had been created in a dream.
“Too tight about the chest.” Narcissa said wistfully,” But lovely. Here…” Her voice trailed off as she crossed the room, moving toward the sofa where the other contents of the trunk were strewn about. She picked up the velvet box that she had put aside and carried it back to Ginny. She lifted the lid slowly. For the second time in half an hour, Ginny exhaled a sigh of awe.
It was a tiara, small but exquisite. The rows of rhinestones- no, those are probably real diamonds, Ginny thought- were arranged to mimic a cluster of tiny blossoms.
“Do you like it?” Narcissa asked. She lifted it carefully from the box and arranged it in Ginny’s hair. “I had hoped to give it to our daughter but…”
Ginny thought she heard a choke in Narcissa’s voice, and she eyed her hostess’s reflection in the mirror to find that her eyes were misted with tears.
“Is something wrong?” She asked gently.
Narcissa waved the question away. “No. It’s nothing.” She took a step back, admiring the complete effect. “You look lovely.”
Ginny jumped when another voice joined the fray. “I would have to say that I agree.”
Ginny stiffened at the sound of Draco’s voice, but didn’t turn around.
“Darling!” Narcissa smiled and turned. “I thought you were going into the office.”
“I left some scrolls that I needed.”
Ginny could feel his eyes on her back, but she didn’t dare look into the mirror and check his reflection and see if her suspicions were true.
“Miss Weasley and I were going through some of my old things.” Narcissa explained, prodding Ginny to turn around and face her son. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Draco grunted in agreement.
“It’s my old gown. It suits her, I think…” She narrowed her eyes in scrutiny, “Although maybe an ivory silk would work better with her hair. I don’t think that all the girls just wear white anymore…” Narcissa continued speaking, oblivious to Draco and Ginny’s silence. She turned back to the girl. “What colour is your dress?”
Ginny felt her cheeks begin to burn. She hadn’t thought about her own gown. She was sure that the dress she was wearing cost thousands of galleons. There was no way that her family would be able to scrape together that kind of money merely to save face- even if her brothers chipped in.
“I haven’t got one yet.”
“Haven’t gotten one?” Narcissa gasped.
“Er….no.” Ginny answered quietly, praying that Narcissa would let the matter drop.
“But sweeting, you must!” Mrs. Malfoy’s tone was astonished. “All the best gowns will be taken by now. You don’t want to end up with something from Malkin’s” She spoke the shop name as if it were a plague, “You could go to Paris, I suppose, their season is later, but you still don’t have much time, unless-”
“Ginny’s having her dress custom made,” Draco’s voice inserted smoothly, “Aren’t you, Gin?”
It was news to Ginny, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to accept his help. She didn’t want to be rescued again, but there didn’t seem to be a choice. She couldn’t bear the thought of standing in Narcissa Malfoy’s parlor, swathed in the most decadent silk confection that she had ever seen much less worn, wilting under the scrutiny of a man she might have loved, and confessing that the most likely plan was to borrow her mother’s cousin’s husband’s sister’s dress from nine years past, and if that didn’t work out, her mother would sew something from scratch. She was tired of being second rate. She was enjoying pretending to be a princess, and she wasn’t ready for the illusion to end.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was strange how Draco always seemed to catch her lacking the proper attire.
Everything had started with a dress. More accurately, it had started with a skirt: a black velvet skirt that fell just above Ginny’s knees that arrived a few days after the infamous broom closet incident along with a note pinned to its hem:
Library.
Study Room C.
7 o’clock.
You don’t have an excuse this time.
,DBM
She had debated whether or not to go. All week, Ginny had been sulking about what had happened, weighing the excitement of kissing Draco Malfoy against the almost certain knowledge that he was either pursuing a hidden agenda now, or would only sneer at her memory someday, and trying to decide if she could bear it. In the end, her struggle didn’t last long. She was sixteen years old, she’d liked snogging him, and she was starting to discover that she didn’t know as much about Draco Malfoy as she thought she did. Besides, she was a Gryffindor. Wasn’t she supposed to be brave?
That night, Ginny slid her hips into the skirt, threw on another shrunken sweater and met him like he asked.
“Nice Weaslette.” He said when he saw her, giving Ginny a slow, scorching appraisal that she felt in the bottom of her toes.
She forced a cool reply. “I thought you said you weren’t looking at my skirt.”
“I’m looking at your arse,” he answered with a cheeky grin, “Unfortunately, I haven’t mastered the charm to see through clothing…yet.”
“Our Malfoy, lacking in charms?” She said in a mock-scandalized tone.
“Hardly.” His eyes continued to rake her body. “Shall I prove it?”
She really hadn’t expected him to kiss him again so soon. During the summer, when she had dated Harry, they would talk for hours before he would work up the nerve to brush a closed-mouth kiss against her lips or, (if he was filling particularly daring) to skim his hands over the front of her shirt.
Draco wasn’t wasting any time.
Ginny wasn’t complaining.
The moment that his lips met hers, his hands were roaming over her body. He started at her shoulders, drawing her against his chest, and then the warm palms moved downwards resting on the base of her spine. His tongue flicked against her lips. Then, when they parted, pushed inside to explore the warm hollow of her mouth.
When he finally drew away, Ginny was breathless and flushed- and alarmed by Draco’s expression.
He was staring at her as if he expected her to speak. After more than a minute of floundering for something to say, she finally blurted: “I liked my present.”
“Your present?” He looked momentarily confused, and then another wicked smile unfurled on his lips.
“My skirt.”
“Oh? Who said that was a present for you?”
She felt a giddy lightness in her stomach at his playful tone. “Do you like the way it looks?”
His fingers gripped the curve of her arse and she felt his breath against her neck as he whispered. “I like the way it feels.”
There was no way to tell where it might have ended up if Madame Pince hadn’t interrupted.
“You’re bending the spines of those books!” Ginny mocked after they were safely out of the library. The horrified librarian- purposefully diverting her eyes from the pawing teenagers, had rushed to the rescue of her beloved books, shooing them both back into the hall.
Draco snickered at Ginny’s mimicry and then added, “She’s lucky she came before I got my bookmark in your pages.”
Ginny shivered and blushed, but followed him through the corridors and then outside. They walked hand-in-hand until they came to the edge of the Forbidden Forest where a stable of sorts had been constructed to house one of Hagrid’s assorted beasts but was empty now. They climbed up to the loft and laid together in the sweet-smelling hay, Draco's chin resting on her shoulder and his arms around her waist as they watched the moonrise and the glow of fairies and will-o-wisps moving in the forest below.
The next Wednesday Ginny received another parcel: a shirt of slick emerald silk and a note that read:
Greenhouse Three. Seven O’clock. Don’t be late.
She wasn’t.
Draco met her under an arch of roses that closed behind her, enclosing them in a fragrant bower. His lips covered hers as his arms surrounded her body. Warm hands skimmed the thin fabric of her shirt until her skin felt liquid beneath.
“What are you doing?” She gasped between kisses.
Draco leered. “Making sure that I still like what I feel.”
“And do you?”
She didn’t really need to ask.
The next week’s offering was a nubby sweater, a corduroy skirt and a picnic by the lake. His long fingers explored every bump and ridge of the barrier between their skin as they lay in the tall grasses by the water’s edge.
The fourth week, he sent satin knickers.
The fifth week, he sent nothing at all.
~*~*~*~*~*~
In retrospect, telling Hermione might have been a mistake.
Gin had felt confident during her five week courtship by Draco with confiding in Pansy alone, but the most recent gift- or rather, lack thereof had left her needing more. She adored Pansy, but sometimes doubted that the Slytherin girl could truly relate to Ginny’s life. Hermione had seen it. Hermione had been to the Burrow. She had lived through Molly’s scolding and the twins teasing.
She understood.
Her reaction had been about what Ginny expected: shock, disbelief, and then a reluctant, suspicious acceptance.
“Let me get this straight, Ginny.” She said, her face screwed up in concentration as though she was pondering a problem for arithmancy. “You’ve been seeing Draco Malfoy,” She said the name as if it were some particularly repugnant potions ingredient, “ for the past month…”
“Five weeks!” Ginny corrected.
“Five weeks.” Hermione rolled her eyes, “And you’ve been accepting presents for him to…feel.”
Ginny frowned, disliking the implication in Hermione’s voice. “He’s never tried anything!” She defended.
“Yet.”
A moment of silence hung between the two girls before Hermione elaborated. “You said that he didn’t send a gift with the last note.”
“No.”
“And that means…?” When Ginny didn’t answer immediately, Hermione sighed, “Ginny, you really don’t need me to figure this out for you- he’s asking you for sex.”
Ginny was slightly startled by her bluntness. “Maybe,” She conceded after a long pause.
“C’mon Gin, what else is he going to want from…” Hermione bit her tongue. Her face flushed in realization that, once again, she had spoken too much without thinking.
Ginny’s brown eyes flashed with anger. “What could he possibly want from who? Poor, raggedy, second-hand Ginny Weasley?”
Hermione cringed at the well-merited attack, but held her ground. “I didn’t mean it to be cruel, Gin, but think about it. What do you have that Draco wants? Do you honestly think that he loves you? That he means to marry you? Will he ever bring your relationship out into the open?”
“You don’t know him! He..he likes to talk to me!” Ginny retorted, but her mouth went dry as she realized the lie. It seemed like she and Draco liked to talk. There was never an awkward silence, and she felt comfortable telling him what she wanted. The truth was,however, during their meetings they rarely spoke. Their mouths were usually otherwise occupied, as they communicated with touch, rather than sound.
“I just want you to be sure,” Hermione said, “It’s an awful big step if you’re not.”
Ginny had continued staring at the open doorway of her room for several minutes after Hermione left. The other occupants of the room had already disappeared for the evening. Most of them were enjoying the grounds, or seeking out the dark corners of the castle with the boy of their choice. A few lingered in the common room. From time to time, the sound of their laughter would float up the stairs, breaking the silence that was nearly complete, save the ominous ticking of the clock. Ginny should have left already if she was going to be on time. Was he Draco waiting? He hated waiting…yet, why should she cater to his whims?
Ginny groaned and threw herself back on the bed, staring into the heavy velvet draperies that surrounded it. They cast deep shadows across her face. Up until that moment, everything in her relationship with Draco had been easy. She never would have expected the course of events to unfold as they had, but it had all felt natural, like water moving along the course of a stream, flowing naturally to the path of least resistance. It was as though she had hit a dam. Now all of her emotions were building up inside, pressing against the barrier which would decide if she was tamed or broke free.
Ginny didn’t know what to do. In some ways, she was even more confused now than before she had spoken to Hermione. Still, her friend’s question echoed in her mind.
Was she sure? How could she be? Draco didn’t love her- at least, he’d never said that he loved her. Did she need him to be in love? Was she? Did she want to be?
“Yes, yes, yes,” her heart and mind cried out in unison. She pressed her lids together, trying to staunch the flow of tears suddenly pooling there. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but she was nearly convinced t hat she was in love with the Draco- and not in the sense of a puppyish crush like she had been with Harry. Sometime since their meetings had began, something subtle had changed. He was her first thought upon waking, and the last before she closed her eyes at night. He haunted her thoughts through out the day, filtering what she learned and saw through the notion of : “I wonder what Draco would think…”.
Wednesday- the day that her weekly owl and present arrived- had become her favorite day. She awaited the post with the jittery excitement of an addict about to receive a drug, all nervous, fidgety tension, followed by ecstatic release. How had it all gone wrong?
Hermione had been irrefutably right about a lot of things. There wasn’t a real chance for the relationship to grow. As much fun as she had fumbling around in study rooms and storage halls, there seemed to be little chance for more.
She couldn’t imagine Draco introducing her to his family- a lowly Weasley (And come to think of it, she wouldn’t want to be in Draco’s shoes if she ever brought him home to the Burrow)- but, if he didn’t love her, and didn’t want a relationship, what did that leave?
Sex.
The conclusion was unavoidable, even if it cut her to the bone, and even though she hated herself, she wondered if that was enough- if maybe it wasn’t worth it to be with Draco and love him even if she was never loved back. After all, that was her typical M.O, wasn’t it? She thought bitterly. She could be the poster child for unrequited love.
Yet, even her present misery wasn’t enough to banish the memory of his warm hands brushing over her skin, or to quiet the small voice daring her to hope: “He might love me. He hasn’t said that he doesn’t either.”
Ginny closed her eyes, trying to remember all the touches they had shared, wishing that she could use them to decipher his true intent. Then, lost in her memories, and without really meaning to, she slowly drifted to sleep.
Ginny felt a pair of arms wind around her waist and draw her into a pocket of warmth. Reaching forward, she found the source of the heat: a well-muscled torso that she had grown to know by touch alone. Her eyes flew open, and sparkled when she confirmed her suspicion.
“Draco.” She whispered.
He answered with a soft smile. “Good morning, beautiful,” and then he leaned forward to kiss her neck, nibbling up the tendon in her neck until he was nuzzling her ear.
“Draco!” She giggled, closing her eyes again and winding her arms around his neck. “You came and found me.”
“Always.” He whispered. Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew that he wore a wolfish grin. “I came to check out my present.”
“Oh?”
“I want to know if I like how it feels.” He purred, and one long finger slipped beneath the strap of a silk nightgown that she didn’t remember owning, much less putting on.
The touch of his finger was a paradox: a flash of heat that sent a chill down her spine. Small shudders traveled through every nerve, ending at the tips of her toes.
“Draco…” She felt a momentary flutter of panic. “Are we….are you…?”
“Sure?” He asked, and lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Of course, I’m sure Gin.” She was vaguely aware that his other hand hadn’t stopped moving. It had eased the nightgown off of her shoulders and over her chest, exposing her freckled breasts. “I love you, Ginny.” He said planitively, and she felt a second shudder, this one a physical reaction to the pure emotional power of the words.
“You-?” She started to blubber, shocked, even as a giddy lightness was enveloping her.
“Love you.” Draco whispered. “All of you. I just want to show you how much.”
She opened her eyes at last, staring into his stormcloud eyes. The pupils were narrowed with desire, and when she bucked up against him, she felt further evidence of his desire.
“How do you want to show me?” Ginny pushed, tipping her hips against him again, grinding a slow circle against his hips.
He groaned. “You’re going to find out really soon if you keep doing that…” he said in a strained tone, and then he dipped his head to capture her nipple between his teeth and tongue.
Her breath came out in a hiss as he sucked on the tender flesh. “Do you like that.” He lifted his head to query. It was agony to loose even a second of contact. He leaned his head back against her bosom, and she felt a smile curl on his lips. “There’s more to like.”
One of his hands moved heavily down her side, taking the nightgown with it. He stopped at the fullness of her hips, cradling her once more against him before he released her, then rocked back to sit on his knees and stripped away his own shirt.
He was beautiful- all lean muscles and pale skin. Ginny felt a little swoon of pleasure as he reached for the button of his trousers and began to inch them over his narrow hips.
“Do you want this, Ginny?”
“Yes.” She replied without hesitation, and his eyes darkened again. Draco's trousers were stripped away, and he leaned forward to pin her with his body again. His lips sought her mouth as his hands roamed wantonly over every inch of her flesh.
”Ginny…” he said her name like a prayer, whispering it again and again.
“Ginny, Ginny, my Ginny…”
“Ginny?”
That didn’t sound like Draco’s voice. Ginny frowned, feeling a stab of panic as the scene around her began to melt away. It had sounded like…
“Ginny? Are you still in bed?”
Hermione!
“Ginny, there you are!” The voice was louder now. “Rise and shine
sleepyhead. You’ve got a Quidditch match to play.”
Ginny felt her stomach twist as realization dawned: She had been asleep.
Everything had been a dream…and she had missed the date!
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