Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh, except the plot, that is mine. Not that that makes up in any way for the fact that I don't own Sirius Black.

"3, 2, 1 – Happy New Year!"

The shout went up from the Burrow's Kitchen and many a mismatched cup filled sparingly with champagne – which Harry had insisted on buying - was raised into the air and clinked noisily against each other, before being drained and refilled with Butterbeer or some other more sensible/alcoholic drink.

While as far as beverages go champagne is among the most useless, (second only to that Ginger beer stuff - not even alcoholic!) the combination of bubbles and alcohol had set the 17-year-old Ginny Weasley's head to fogging up pleasantly and she found herself dancing rather more exuberantly with Luna, Tonks and Hermione than she might otherwise have done given her current emotional state.

(Her current emotional state being unbelievably devastated, obviously.)

She was trying to force herself to focus on Tonks' hair which she had grown long and curly for the occasion and which was currently flashing from red to gold to blue to silver in time with the music, and not look at the bloody Potter.

This was, however, proving unexpectedly difficult.

It was as though he had grown to the size of Hagrid in the time since they had broken up and every space that wasn't taken up with Tonks' flying hair somehow seemed to contain a Harry. Sensing her fury, Hermione strode over to Ginny and said loudly "Gin, Luna, I need your help," she pointed to a rip in the back of her new dress, (which incidentally was smoking slightly as though it had recently been subject to a minor hex,) and continued "I'd do it myself, but I can't aim properly at my own back."

Smiling in relief, and at the terrible lying, Ginny excused herself upstairs with the girls to get at some Harryless air.

Flopping onto her bed, Ginny sighed, "Bless you Hermione, you are a dear."

"I know."

"It's just that he's everywhere! But he's not actually everywhere, obviously. I'm not crazy. I don't know how he's doing it. I'm convinced he's invented some sort of spell that allows him to be everywhere at the same time but still just in one place and he's done it deliberately to anger me, because I'm not crazy." Ginny glared at the door, as though it was the one who had brought her sanity into question.

"He can't expect you to just take that, he's the one who broke up with you, he's in the wrong, not you, you're an independent woman, (free the elves,) you don't need him, he's a bastard." Luna nodded, flipping slowly through a copy of Witch Weekly.

/I feel I should explain that Luna has taken to subliminally telling people to free the elves. Not house elves, Tibetan Mining Elves; which hundreds of years ago were mistaken for dwarves- look. It doesn't matter. I'm just trying to add a bit of culture, don't worry./

Ginny nodded, slowly. "Yes. Yes I see your point. You're saying that this isn't my fault. That I should make a fresh start, a new year! I don't need him!" Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the article Luna was currently perusing "Hold your hippogriffs men," She held out a hand to the startled faces of Luna and Hermione. "I have a plan."

"Oh dear. I refuse."

"No no nonono Hermione. No. You see, my plan is mystical and unexpected and marvellous and," she finished triumphantly, "Involves eyeliner."

"Eyeliner?"

"Eyeliner."

"How much?"

"As much as it takes."

"Good grief."

"Also, we must plan for the plan. This is a plan that requires planning and probably pre-planning and lists, and the possibility of shortened snack breaks." Luna finally looked up. Ginny nodded and said, "Yes. I know. But the end result will be worth it, what with all the resultant hotness and ultimate revenge, you see."

"Hotness?"

"Yes. Because of the eyeliner and shortened snack breaks."

"I see."

"Happy New Year!" Several live doves exploded from the hors d'oeuvres in a shower of green sparks as the cry went up, and crystal champagne flutes were raised in celebration as the large crowd assembled in the Malfoy ballroom welcomed in the new year in true pure-blood style – extravagantly and with lots of green stuff.

A large fountain sunk into the centre of the silver (and green) dance floor was flowing with a never-ending stream of the world's finest champagne, an orchestra of real wood nymphs played on the raised stage, and the astoundingly rich mingled with the impossibly beautiful at this, the most exclusive event of the year.

Also, the level of blood purity in the room would probably cause He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to have some kind of orgasm.

Draco Malfoy pulled away from the Italian girl with whom he had been sharing the tradition of starting the New Year with a kiss, and ruffled his hair out of his eyes. (He took great care to ruffle, not smooth. Smooth was not a good look if you had features as defined (read: pointy) as the youngest Malfoy.) Blaise Zabini was on his left with a skinny blonde distant relative draped across him who was trying desperately to engage his attention for more than three seconds at a time. However Blaise, as ever, looked sort of vaguely disgusted at the technically incestuous flirting.

Draco yawned discreetly, counting the seconds before his mother wouldn't consider it rude for him to call for a refill of his glass.

Casting around dully for a distraction, his gaze came to rest on his parents. They were opposite sides of the room, but their stances and expressions were identical, and occasionally they would look towards each other for assurance that they were doing all right, all was going to plan, that the other was performing their role seamlessly, so on and so forth. His father was a vision in green, his mother looked decidedly like a mouldy icicle with a confusingly attractive head.

His father suddenly moved energetically over to Severus Snape and Draco was reminded forcibly of two enormous bats gathering to chat aimiably about their day. He sniggered attractively.

Draco knocked back the last drops in his glass inelegantly, his musings exhausted. He glanced briefly at the Italian girl. She seemed to have trying to get his attention for a while, but he had no patience for stunningly beautiful foreign supermodels tonight. He turned away from her again and lamented the fact that his parents hadn't ordered anything stronger. His mother was many things, but stupid was not one of them.

Trying to focus his eyes on the girl in front of him again, but with no real reason to keep them there other than a pair of perfectly proportioned tits, his mind inevitably wondered. To Blaise Zabini.

Reluctantly letting his memory out if its box, Draco sank into recollection.

It was 9pm. Parties that his mother organised were generally dull until the champagne really started flowing and since most of the guests had barely been there an hour it seemed unreasonable to suggest that they all get smashed just yet.

Draco had just escaped from a deeply detailed and one-sided conversation about the pros and cons of using actual dragon hide for jackets as opposed to fake with his great uncle on his father's side, Draco decided to get himself a cheeky snack. However, in order to avert all invitations to join in on repetitive small talk as much as possible, he devised a cunning plan.

Instead of taking the rather more conventional route straight across the hall, Draco decided he would take the path less travelled (less travelled because of it's complex staircases and general stupidity) and go out of the hall by the door on this side, up the main stairs, through the library, down the servant's corridor, left, left again, up some different stairs, quick leap across the balcony, down some other stairs, along the gallery, through secret passage in wall, across small courtyard, across a final corridor, and enter through the door on the other side of the hall.

Or, he would have done, he nearly made it, but his plan was foiled just as he was walking through the courtyard. By the sound of shagging. Now, Draco was not a man to let a source of shagging go uninvestigated, and he paused to glance behind a statue of Dmitri Malfoy holding the head of a house elf, and had seen… well.

That was the problem.

It wasn't the fact that Blaise was the one doing the shagging. It wasn't even that Blaise was shagging a man. (He'd had his suspicions.) It as the fact that the man bent over his great-great-grandfather's memorial bench, having his hair tugged on rather violently by his best friend, was…

Oh bloody hell.

It was Seamus Finnegan.

Seamus.

Most-Likely-Unprenouncable-Irish-Middle-Name.

Finnegan.

How exactly the Irish half-blood had come to be in his courtyard remained a source of mild confusion to Draco, but he was having a hard time seeing that as the main issue.

So, after muttering "Well, feck me sideways" in a comically Irish way, he sank to the ground and hit himself in the head, trying his hardest to wake himself up and find that it was all a very, very weird dream. It wasn't.

Draco shook his head slightly to rouse himself from his recollections.

Finnegan, Blaise had said afterwards when Draco could be roused from his faint, was a test to see exactly how potent his powers of seduction were.

Draco wondered (quietly, to himself) what the real thing was like if Finnegan had been 'just a test'. Quietly, because he didn't actually want to know the answer and Zabini would definitely tell him. Or show him.

Shudder.

Looking around himself suddenly, he was only slightly surprised to see that the girl had left, and was now being chatted up by Theo Nott. Resisting the urge to look over at Zabini, Draco made a New Year's resolution:

That this year would be marginally good.

(As in: no death/being tortured/Lemon and marmite pancakes. That was a step too far down the 'experimental breakfast' road. And all of those things could definately be called beyond a shadow of a doubt 'quite bollocks'.

Hermione exhaled in relief, lowering her copy of "101 Helpful Charms For Witches", which she had open on the page for perfect bambi-esque eye makeup. Ginny opened her eyes hopefully and turned to the mirror to see Hermione's handiwork.

There was a pause.

"Hermione."

"Yes?"

"It seems you are a genius in most of the ways."

Hermione smiled wisely. "Yes."

Luna changed places with Ginny to sit in front of a steadily more and more nervous-looking Hermione as the brunette flicked to an earmarked page labelled "Sexy Blonde Chop".

Hermione raised her wand.

Luna's face twitched.

Thirteen very tense minutes later Hermione lowered her wand and told Luna,

"You look like a raging sex goddess."

"Is this good?"

"It's very very good," Ginny held up the mirror to Luna's face. "You are so buff at this moment I can actually sort of feel myself turning gay."

"Oh, good." Luna looked up at Ginny, "I'm glad you fancy me."

"Er. That's quite alright Luna."

A/N: NEW STORY!

As the description suggests, this is a Draco/Ginny story, but it also includes Hermione/? and Luna/?, as is made startlingly obvious in about the first 200 words of the next chapter. Woohoo! Obvious plotlines! And if they weren't obvious I just told you. Dammit, who writes these things?

Also, I feel I should make clear that I live in a sort of bubble of denial in which Tonks and Remus live on. They are not dead in this story because it makes me cry to cut them out :( (Thanks GMM for pointing out that I am a forgetful tit!)

R&R?

Love you, unspecified humans!

TheGreenEyedIdiot x