J.K. Rowling owns everything! Is there some kind of law that says I have to write that in my introduction? Whatever. Anything you wouldn't recognize does not belong to the Almighty Mother herself, but to yours truly.

This Ginny/Draco fic is something I actually began writing a couple of years ago. I then published it under another name and it was called "Shadowplay", but I had no idea where I was going with the story and I never came further than that first chapter. Now I suppose I have a slightly better idea of what I'm going for so hopefully this time it'll be better. I've changed the first chapter and stuff as well, so I'm excited.

Fic is 1th to 5th book compliant, somewhat 6th book compliant, but Dumbledore never died and Draco was never supposed to kill him. Ginny and Harry never ended up dating.

Follows Draco's 7th year and Ginny's 6th. Rated M for language and future possible lemons/smut/sexy-time (who am I kidding, of course there'll be smut!)

Chapter 1: Celebrated Sins and a Bucket of Scotch

Malfoy Manor was alight with celebration. Everyone was having an excellent evening, and naturally everyone was there, anyone of importance at least. The Malfoy's were famous in the higher circles of society for their parties and they didn't disappoint.

However, there was one person who didn't seem to be enjoying himself nearly as much as everyone else. Tall and lean he stood at the balcony, surveying the crowd below. It was a gathering of a certain kind of people; every single one of them balanced just the right amount of elegance, class, wealth, manners and, of course, complete and utter bullshit-ness. His mother just faked a laugh at one of her supposedly 'friends', and his father flirted shamelessly with one of the waitresses. Draco Malfoy tossed his head to the side, keeping the strands of silver blond hair that hung loosely into his face, out of his line of vision. His steel grey eyes fixated on the crystal glass in his hand, containing 70 years old, rare firewhisky. His 5th that evening.

One of the houseelves came silently up from behind and couched delicately, making sure he was noticed by his master.

"Yes?" Draco asked in a monotone manner, boredom dripping from each syllable.

"Your father would like you to socialize a little more, your behaviour isn't acceptable for an event like this; it's not decent of you, avoiding the guests. 'You are to socialize with the most important friends,' Mr. Malfoy says," The small creature squeaked quietly. It did not look up, afraid to upset his master. Draco scoffed. He understood perfectly well what his father's demand translated to. Do what you do best; show off.

He ran a hand through his mess of silver hair. "Like he could ever teach me anything about decency," Draco sighed impatiently, "Well, whatever father demands," he continued with a sarcastic salute and downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion, drying his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards. He put the glass down at the reeling and swept through the doors that lead into the house. He paused and turned to the houseelf before he continued down the hall.

"Bring me a refill of that," he said, pointing at the empty glass, "I'll be out in the gardens, mingling with the ladies," He winked, though half-hearted, and left. He strolled through the empty halls of the house, down the main stairs and out, into the festively decorated gardens. The sun had set and the fairy lights in the trees shone in the glum twilight.

The celebrated event of the night was a yearly tradition in the Malfoy family; "Fading Summer Party" was a chance for his parents to climb a bit higher on the social ladder (if that was even possible). Not that it was really necessary, far from it, but they really enjoyed showing off their wealth. Especially his father. But then again, so did every Malfoy, even Draco; bragging about their gold, their status as one of the oldest pureblood families and, of course, their beauty. But lately Draco had found it exceedingly dull, having to be all charming smiles and polite inquiries; the admiring son of a bastard father. Wasted time.

Draco searched the crowd with narrowed eyes; men, all dressed in black dress robes, and women, dressed in their most recently purchased evening gowns, all of them trying their hardest to impress. It made him exhausted, the constant competing, but he didn't mind viewing the beauty of the opposite sex as it was handed to him on a silver-plate like this (though he would enjoy it much more if they didn't have those gowns on).

Finally, he spotted the only person who weren't just as full of it as the rest of them. Blaise Zabini was leaning nonchalantly against one of the buffet tables. He was looking his impeccable self with his neat black suit and his ebony hair carefully combed to the side, like the real gentleman he was, that prat.

Draco started making his way towards him, but was repeatedly cut off by eager and annoying guests, mostly women. He faked his most endearing smile, just as his mother taught him so many years ago, and slithered away, out of their grasp.

"Hey," Blaise said as he noticed Draco approaching. "You had a nice summer?" He asked, looking his usual lazily carefree self. Asshole.

"Yeah, great," Draco huffed in reply as he dumped down on a chair. "You know how I love spending quality time with my dear father, locked in a tiny castle in France, while he tries to make me a mini-him," He spat sarcastically and grabbed the refilled glass of firewhisky that was handed to him by a waiter.

Blaise eyed the glass of golden liquor in his hand with undisguised scepticism. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes.

"What?" He snapped impatiently, raising his eyebrows.

"I think you've had enough of that shit," Blaise replied simply.

"Do not call it shit, it's the finest firewhisky money can buy you," Draco sipped at the drink. "Well, I suppose you can't buy stuff this old anymore," Another sip, "I'm not drunk."

"I know you're not, but you should have been, how long ago? How many glasses have you actually drunk by now?" He mused, his expression transforming into a frown of distaste.

Draco downed this glass as well, "This was my 6th, mum."

"Exactly my point," Blaise concluded. "Any other seventeen year old fucker would be down at the ground by now, drooling, rolling around in the grass, singing children songs in a very bad Scottish accent and making a complete fool of himself, let alone his parents."

"Yeah, thanks' mate, for the detailed description of being shitfaced, but I'm not any seventeen year old fucker. I am the seventeen year old fucker," He said, smirking smugly at his friend, "And I do not make a fool of myself. Ever." He shrugged. "You should know,"

"Not even when Potter is beating that sorry ass of yours in Quidditch?" Blaise retorted with a smirk of his own.

"Don't fucking bring Scarface into this, I'd like to keep this last fragment of my vacation free from any boy-who-couldn't -fucking-die bullshit. I have to see his messed up face soon enough anyway," A moment of silence passed as they both took a break from their discussion to check out the graceful women mingling in front of them.

"Or when Granger punches you in the face," Blaise went on when the moment passed, pretending not to notice the irritation leeching from the very pores of his best mate.

"Hey, that was one time! And she's a girl! What was I supposed to do? Hit her back? You know I don't hit girls, I would never sink that low!" Draco defended himself furiously. You're hit by a girl one bloody time and no one lets you forget it.

"Or, you remember that time when that Weasley girl bat bogey hexed you? That was totally priceless!" Blaise exclaimed, now unable to keep a straight face as it broke into a huge grin at the memory. He caught the look on Draco's face, a look that loud and clear told him to shut up, or he would suffer some pretty nasty consequences and he quieted down a bit. Blaise wasn't really afraid of Draco, never had been, but he knew him well enough to know that if Draco truly wanted to, he wouldn't hesitate to use illegal curses. He also knew that Draco was slightly short tempered, especially after a certain amount of booze, however unaffected he claimed to be. It wasn't really too great an idea to pull the strings of his already tense mood at an event like this. Although Draco's hot temper was a good laugh and his infuriation highly entertaining, it was not worth making a public scene out of. It could wait 'til they got back to Hogwarts. Draco always relaxed more, once away from his father and the manor.

The two of them sat in silence for a while, Draco glaring with narrow eyes at whoever walked past them, completely giving f* about his behaviour at this point, while Blaise tried to smile apologizing at the same people as they passed by him.

"And by the way, I'd like to have my share of liquor before I leave. Hogwarts isn't exactly known to serve students firewhisky, " Draco barked grumpily after a while, as he sipped at yet another glass of Ogden's Finest (he couldn't really remember where he got the last one from). "Not of this quality anyway," He studied the golden liquid solemnly.

"I wonder why," Blaise drawled back. Silence fell over the two of them again and Blaise sighed impatiently.

"Well, if you're just gonna sit here all night, brooding, I think I'll go do something a little more exhilarating with my time. I should probably warn you though; Pansy's here, and I think she's looking for you," Draco groaned. Since he'd shagged her the previous year Pansy wouldn't leave him alone for a split second if she had it her way. Then again, if she had it her way, they probably would have been married by October. Draco shuddered involuntarily at the thought. "So if I were you, I wouldn't sick to one place all night; she'll probably find you eventually,"

"Thanks', I'll keep that in mind," Draco said glumly before rising to his feet and strolling off. "I'll see you around," he called over his shoulder. Pansy wasn't really that bad a shag; she was okay. She was, however, such a pain in the ass afterwards that the pleasure he achieved wasn't even worth it.

Calm music filled the air between the chatter and laughter, some very hip jazz-band his mother had booked for the occasion; "Thestral's cry" or something. It didn't really sound anything like the shrill sound of crying Thestrals to him.

As he once again made his way through the crowd, he noticed a slender woman with olive skin dressed in a deep red gown that gently hugged her body in a very flattering, graceful way. Her hair flowed down her back, raven black, just like her sons'. He grinned, made his way over to her, cleared his throat and took her hand in his, kissing it softly.

"Would you be so kind to let me have this dance, Mrs. Zabini?" He asked smoothly, looking into her eyes with overpowering intensity.

"Well, if you insist. It's always pleasant to dance with you, you're such a lovely dancer," She answered seductively, arching an eyebrow. Man, the woman really knew how to flirt. Draco led her to the dance floor, easily pulling her into position, one of his hands resting on the small of her back, the other holding her slight hand cradled in his own much bigger one.

"So, how is your evening so far, Mrs. Zabini?"

"Now, now Draco, how many times do I have to tell you to address me by my first name? You know how I feel about the Mrs. Zabini nonsense. It makes me sound so old." She hissed the last word out like it was cursed; something dirty and inappropriate.

"Well, how would that be appropriate when I'm associating with your son?"

"How is he by the way? I saw the two of you talking."

"Rather inconveniently content and annoyingly cheerful, as usual,"

"Well, I think I know where he got those qualities from," She said, winking at him.

"You would know,"

"I would. What were the two of you talking about?"

"My father, liquor, girls, the usual rubbish,"

"Your father..."

"What about him?" His voice stiffened.

"He does look just a little too comfortable in the company of that brunette waitress," She glanced briefly over her shoulder, in their direction.

"Tell me about it," He gritted his teeth.

"He really isn't very subtle about it, is he?"

"Naturally, everyone has noticed by now," Draco said bitterly. "But pointing it out would make it real, so no one ever does. We live in a perfected illusion built on vain cowardice and fucked up lies,"

"Ah, a, a, language Draco! That's not very gentleman like of you,"

"I beg your pardon, Fair Lady Zabini, please excuse my lack of manners," He apologized with mocking regret filling his voice and smirked down at her. He loved their little game.

"I'll let it pass this once."

"You are gracious as well as fair, milady,"

"I am. Now, in terms of right courtesy I should ask you how your evening has been,"

"Absolutely terrible, bloody fucking boring and a complete waste of time, since you decided to ask."

"I'm a waste of time, am I?" She teased.

"No. You're the exception," He grinned down at her.

"And what could I do to make your evening a little less waste of time, as you put it?"

He leaned in then, so that his hair brushed her cheek and the heavy, exotic aroma of her body entranced him. "It's not a question about what you could do, but what you would do. Because I know a way you could definitely make this an evening worth wasting time on... " He whispered in her ear, his lower lip barely gracing her jaw line as he did.

She pulled him closer still, whispering back. "That's too bad. I guess you'll just have to stay miserable then," She kissed his cheek, right beside his mouth and slipped gracefully out of his embrace, leaving him standing alone in the centre of the dance floor.

Fuck, she knew how to play him too well. Such a tease. 'I'll get you though. One day you'll lay in my bed, screaming with pleasure, begging me for release.' He thought to himself as he went off. Too bad she was Blaise's mother. He would be enraged if he ever found out.

"You know, that just makes me sick." A voice drawled from behind. Draco turned, rolling his eyes. 'Speak of the devil'.

"What?" He shrugged upon meeting the disgusted grimace Blaise's features were portraying.

"My mother and my best friend,"

"We were dancing. And don't BFF me. It won't work,"

"That was not civil dancing. There was some serious eye-fucking going on there, let alone some quite generous groping if my eyesight ever served me right. I'm only glad my mother has the strength to resist you,"

"I'm not,"

"Shut up!"

"You can't deny that she is positively hot?"

"Stop." His face was getting stonier by the second.

"Come on, all the men here notice how perfectly shaped her butt is…"

"I said; Shut up!" Blaise gritted out between his teeth.

"Oh, the things I'd like to do with her," Draco smirked.

"You asked for it." Blaise returned the smirk with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"What?" He narrowed his suspiciously.

"PANSY!"

"NO!"

"He's over here!"

"Fuck. You." Draco spat out the two syllables with as much venom as he could possibly muster. Blaise just continued to smirk with satisfaction written all over his face.

"That should teach you a lesson," He said patting Draco's shoulder, "I'm off. Maybe I'll ask Narcissa for a dance, you know how she adores me," He winked, "but you have fun," And then he strolled off, like he was some kind of somebody. Draco groaned. There was no point in running off now; Pansy had already spotted him. He cursed Blaise to death in his head, but on the other hand; he couldn't very well deny he hadn't practically asked for it.

"Draky, dear! Where have you been?" Her high-pitched voice gave him chills, and not the good kind.

"Around," He mumbled offhandedly. He turned towards her as she came skipping over to him in a pink cocktail dress. Her short hair bounced slightly around her head with each step.

"But I've been looking all over for you!" She whined, putting her arms around his neck. "You weren't trying to avoid me, were you?" She asked in fake disapproval, pouting her lips ridiculously, obviously trying her best to be seductive. "You naughty," She whispered.

"No. I was talking to Blaise," He offered.

"But I don't want to talk..."

"Not now Pansy,"

"Why not? Don't you want me?" She whined. He was bloody sick of her constant whining.

"No."

"What?"

"I have to go... sort some stuff out," He shrugged her off, leaving her dissatisfied and confused. What did he care? If that easy slut could just stop bothering him for the sake of Merlin. He hurriedly evacuated the crowded dance floor, heading in the direction of the gardens. He was looking for the one person he could actually bare spending time with.

He found her alone by the fountain, sipping martinis. Draco went over to his mother, linking her arm with his. She wore a simple, silver silk gown with one bare shoulder and her hair pulled back into a sleek knot in the neck. She looked beautiful, but the smile that graced her lips was not one of joy.

"How's my dear son doing?" He could easily detect the traces of sadness in her voice, though he knew she tried to sound nonchalant.

"Pansy's annoying the hell out of me."

"Be nice to her. Her mother is a dear friend," She told him sternly, straightening his tie and patting him lightly on the chest.

"Nice. Right. I don't do nice."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Except to you, that is, but come on mum, you're my mother; it doesn't count," A beautiful albino peacock made its way through the gardens behind them. None of them took any notice of the majestic bird however; they were well accustomed to them, just like expensive furniture or rare paintings; pretty things to impress others with.

"If you say so,"

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," Her smile was tight, "Don't worry honey,"

"It's dad." She didn't answer, but proceeded to stare stiffly straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact. "He's a bastard. Don't be sad. You're supposed to be comforting me," He couldn't help but whine childishly. Narcissa laughed and hugged his arm tighter.

"Can I be excused from this ridiculous excuse for a party? I'm really bored," She searched his face for a moment, and then nodded.

"You go," She pushed him away. He smiled in relief and kissed her cheek before leaving.

Draco made his way back to the mansion, but avoided getting to close to the lively festivities still going on. By now, all he really wanted was a good night sleep, undisturbed in his own quarters.

On his way, he caught a glimpse of Blaise, dancing with a pretty blonde, obviously flirting with her, making her blush like her life depended on it. At the bar, the other Zabini was now working her charm on an elderly gentleman, who Draco happened to know was a newly divorced, important ministry employee. And sure enough, as Ms. Zabini trailed her fingertips lightly over his chest he looked spellbound. Draco couldn't help but smile; his favourite Zabinis certainly lived up to their reputation as shameless flirts. Both of them.

As he got into the manor and was about to flee up the stairs before anyone caught him and started asking more annoying questions, the door to one of the households many spare bedrooms opened and the brunette waitress ran out, only half dressed, clutching her blouse to her chest. She blushed and looked down as she noticed him watching, before brushing past him and escaping down the hallway. Draco stopped short and only moments after, his father exited from the same room, closing the door behind him as he buttoned his shirt. Anger flared in Draco's chest. His father had always been a heartless dick, but hurting his mother so badly made him furious. Especially since he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as his father got closer; desperately trying to hold back the words he wanted to scream at him, the damage he wanted to inflict on him.

Lucius stopped in his track for a moment when he noticed his son.

"Straighten up son, you look like shit," He said arrogantly as he pushed past him, into the night. Draco concentrated on controlling the rage building on his insides. It would not look good if the Malfoy son hit his father in the presence of the high class Slytherin society of wealth. He clutched his left forearm, willing away the burning pain that just shot through it as hatred coursed through his mind.

Draco turned without thinking, making his way back to the party. Sleep wouldn't do it now; he desperately needed a distraction, even if it was no better than Pansy Parkinson. He spotted her chatting with Goyle and got over there in a couple of long strides.

"Pansy."

"What?" She asked, worship dripping from her voice, like she had already forgotten how he had just rejected her, telling her he didn't want her. She really was pitiable.

"Come with me. Now." It was a demand, not a question. Like she would refuse, he snorted to himself. Her face lit up like a fucking kid on Christmas morning. He just guided her silently into his room, hastily closing the door shut and pushing her onto the bed. He really needed this.

He tore her panties off and she giggled like a squealing, little girl. "Oh, Draco,"

He stopped mid-motion, looking icily down at her. "No talking." He growled, dead serious. He wouldn't be able to stand her whiny voice throughout the act.

So, what did you think? Plz let me know, appreciate comments a lot! I know this was a little angsty maybe, especially in the end, but I just wanted you to get an idea of why Draco tends to get a bit testy, you could say. And I'm sorry there was no Ginny, but there'll be lots of her in the next chapter. Anyway, I've already written the entire second chapter, I can even promise you there'll be some Draco/Ginny interaction, so I'll publish it very soon!