A/N: I present to you all my first attempt at novel-length story of any sort, Close Enough: A Tale of Fire and Ice. Please keep in mind while reading and reviewing that this is, as already stated, my first try at tackling a full-length story. I do not, in any way, claim to be an amazing writer of any sorts—far from it, I'm somewhat new at writing (other than school assignments, of course). So although I beg of of you to critique my story, don't be too harsh, okay?

Moving on: this first chapter, as well as the next one or two chapters, are fairly lacking where Draco is concerned. As much as boring introductions kill me—and if they kill me, I can only imagine what they do to you—I feel that it's necessary for this story. Seeing as Ginny is the narrator in this particular fanfic, and this is her story to tell, she'll include all that she thinks she should, thank you very much. However, she and I both hope you'll stick around despite the first few downbeat chapters.

Disclaimer... I don't feel like repeating this every chapter, so just know that this is withstanding throughout the rest of this fanfic: I don't own Ginny, nor Draco, nor most of the characters mentioned hereafter. All credit goes to J.K. Rowling for the creation of the lovely Harry Potter series and all the contents thereof.

To tell the truth, I don't recall ever honestly liking Masquerade Ball stories. Perhaps I had enjoyed them when I was a very young child; when it didn't really matter how dull and cliched a plot was. I suppose, though, that as long as Charlie had been the narrator I would have been thrilled by a speech on the dangers of microwaves (which, believe it or not, is something you do have to know about when you have my sort of father).

The foremost thing I recall and miss about Charlie is his gift for story telling. Every night when I was young I would curl up next to him on the couch and beg him to tell me a story. He would always say yes... and then he would begin working his magic, sometimes making up stories on the spot, other times simply elaborating a tale he had heard before, but always securing my full captivation. My least favorite stories he would tell, however—if I had any least favorites, that is—were the ones about Masquerade Balls. I much preferred tales of valiant evil-slaying witches to predictable ball stories.

How fitting it was that a Masquerade Ball should be the prelude to both the finest and most terrible times of my life.

I was enrolled in my sixth year of Hogwarts at the time. My books were piled upon the table in front of me, hiding me from sight of the rest of the library. I had originally sat down with the intent of tackling my homework, but I eventually gave up and instead took to staring at the wooden table dejectedly.

Why did I let my mother talk me into coming back? Why didn't I convince Harry to bring me with him? Ron and Hermione got to go, so why not me? I sighed, perturbed that I was always the one left behind. While the rest of my family was risking their lives by fighting Death Eaters I was stuck at Hogwarts with nothing but homework and exams to battle. And Hogwarts had changed; it was no longer the safe, secure haven it had once been. After Dumbledore's murder at the end of my fifth year the school's atmosphere was suddenly thicker, as if fog hung over the whole place. Everyone was tense and on edge, and laughter didn't seem to come as easily as it once had. Even Peeves, normally boisterous as they come, was more subdued than he had once been.

Professor McGonagall was now Headmistress McGonagall, and with her new role it seemed she had become increasingly stricter—a feat I would have thought impossible. More rules had been laid, and Filch was just as firm in his punishment delivery as he had always been. I had already been dealt three days' worth of detention for attempting to lighten the mood one day in Herbology by repeating a joke about Death Eaters I heard from George. Oops.

The student body was also considerably smaller. Most parents had withdrawn their students from school immediately after Dumbledore's death in hopes to keep their families together. Other students, such as Crabbe and Goyle, were rumored to have left because they had joined the ranks of the Death Eaters—not that it surprised anybody. No, the person that really had people talking was Draco Malfoy. After he had nearly killed Dumbledore and run away with Snape, everybody suspected they had seen the last of him.

I suppose that if you looked at it figuratively, we were right; last year we really had seen the last of the old Draco. Now that he was back I rarely saw him, but from the few times I did I drew only one conclusion: wherever he had been, it didn't serve him well. His appearance was disheveled, and he no longer carried himself with the arrogant dignity he once had.

"Hello?" Somebody shifted the wall of books surrounding me, startling me out of my short-lived sleep. With a grunt I closed my eyes and tried to go back to the dream I had been having.

"Oh, hello, Ginny. Don't you think you should wake up? I have some rather interesting news for you."

I blearily pried open my eyes, trying to determine who had dared disturb my precious rest.

"I dun care bout... whatchamacallit... news. Go 'way Luna," I mumbled, burrowing my head in the sleeve of my blouse.

"You missed dinner," continued Luna, unfazed by my obvious disinterest. "It was delicious, you know, but the potatoes tasted a bit odd. I wonder if they ran out of butter and used Purkentuffs instead?"

I raised my head a bit. "Luna, what the bloody hell are Purkentuffs?"

Instead of an answer, however, Luna's already abnormally large eyes widened—as if not knowing what Purkentuffs were was unheard of.

I snorted and tried again. "What news have you got for me, then?"

"Headmistress McGonagall announced it before we ate... there's to be a special ball on Halloween. Ginny, would you believe it? She said we're supposed wear masks! I've always wanted a mask," she remarked dreamily.

I frowned, unsure what to think of the announcement. "Do you mean it's going to be like a Masquerade?"

Luna blinked at me for a moment. "Yes, I'm fairly sure that's what she called it."

I thought back to the Masquerade Ball stories Charlie had told me, the most recent one being from last summer. I knew that Masquerade dresses were undoubtedly far too elaborate for my wallet's purchasing range. Instead of disappointed, I found myself feeling relieved: I had an excuse to not attend the dance, which in turn would free myself of the stress and drama that always came hand in hand with school events.

"When I walked past the Gryffindor table at dinner I heard Dean and Colin arguing over who got to take you to the ball. They both sounded very intent on it." Luna's voice, as reflective and misted as always, broke through my thoughts. "I suppose a Masquerade would be very romantic setting, don't you?"

I pulled a face. "Dean's still at it? One would have thought he'd given up on me by now."

Luna shrugged vacantly, her attention focused on her feeble attempts to blow away a piece of hair that hung in her face.

"Well, it doesn't matter who asks me anyway, seeing as I won't be going." I stood, stashing my half-written essay in my Potions volume and dumping my books and ink in my tattered backpack.

Luna nodded knowingly, her expression solemn. "You're worried about Lagbores, aren't you? I hear they've been known to sneak into dances."

"No, Luna, it's nothing like that... er... whatever that is. I just don't want to deal with any of it." I slung my backpack over my shoulder before smiling reassuringly at my friend. "I think you should go without me, though. You'd have fun."

During my walk to the common room I promised myself I would find somebody to ask Luna to the ball. Luna had never been on a date before and I felt it was high time she had a bit of fun. I was confident that if somebody just gave her a chance they would see how great she was. There would always be Luna's strange fascination with otherwise unheard of creatures that they would have to get around, of course, but I had found that if you looked at it from a different angle it could actually be an endearing trait.

"Password?" I looked up, surprised that I had already reached the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Err... frog spawn?"

The portrait door swung open and I clamored through, mentally making a list of possible candidates to serve as Luna's Masquerade date. Colin? No, he would surely bore her. Neville? Possibly... he had mentioned that his Granny might be taking him out of school soon, though.

I climbed the stairs to my dormitory and cast a longing glance at my bed before trudging halfheartedly to the bathroom. I didn't bother knocking; the rest of the witches who shared my dorm never came in until late. I, on the other hand, was routinely in bed and asleep by 10:30. Quidditch tended to wear me out and, quite frankly, I would rather sleep than socialize in the stuffy common room. Since Harry, Hermione, and Ron—the 'Golden Trio'—had left, my need for a social standing had rapidly receded. I told others that it was because I was too busy to be involved in things other than Quidditch and my studies, but the real reason had nothing to do with either of the two.

I had only forced myself to become more socially active in the first place because of Harry. I thought that if I transformed myself from Ron's timid, shy sister into a bold and outgoing woman Harry would surely notice me. It had been a pathetic plan, really, but it had worked nonetheless. I spent one fleeting month as Harry's girlfriend, and it had been purely blissful. I began to think ahead to a future that involved children and growing old together—a future that, deep down, I knew would never happen. Who had I been kidding to think that I would be the one to tie him down? He was, after all, Harry Potter: the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. He didn't have time for such trivial ideals as love and marriage... not when he was supposed to be ridding the wizarding world of the Dark Lord.

Sighing tiredly, I put away my brush and folded my uniform. I doubted I would ever truly be over Harry. He had been my first love, and for a long time he had been my everything. I only wished that I could have meant the same to him. Even when I was with him I knew there was something missing in our relationship that I would never be able to fix. His smiles were never as loving as they should have been, his touches never warm enough.

A bang sounded from the other room. With a yelp I yanked on my baggy pajama shirt, running to the bathroom door and peeking into the dorm. I grinned with relief when I saw that it had only been the far window. My heart rate slowing to it's normal pace, I twirled to the window and slammed it shut with a satisfying thump. That particular window didn't seem to like to stay closed and had been giving my roommates and I problems all year, the little bugger. It only took a small breeze to send the glass window flying open, usually swinging backwards on its hinges and hitting the wall.

I shivered and hugged my chest; the air that had come it hadn't been warm. Far from it, it was freezing. I was about to turn back to the comfort of my bed when something on the grounds caught my eye. I climbed atop the cushioned window seat, pressing my forehead to the cold glass in an effort to determine what it was I had seen. For a moment I saw nothing... and then it was there again, a flash of movement near the lake. After much squinting I was able to make out the shape of a decidedly male person. Curiosity aroused, I watched him slowly make his way in the direction of the lake's dark waters. What was he doing outside? I quickly glanced at the clock mounted on the opposite wall. It was 10:45—the doors had closed almost twenty minutes ago. Knowing how strict Headmistress McGonagall was about the rule, I was severely hesitant to believe she had forgotten to lock up the castle. With a frown I turned my attention back on the scene below, only to find that the boy had sat down on the water's edge.

I glared at the sitting figure crossly, willing him to get up and do something. Why would anybody go out of their way to sneak out after the gates were locked just to sit in the freezing cold? It made absolutely no sense to me. I was determined to figure out what the mysterious boy was up to, even if it meant staying up all night to do so.

Ten or so minutes later I began to realize the flaw in my plan. I was notorious for my sleeping patterns, and not without reason, either. There was no way I would be able to stay up for another five minutes, let alone six more hours. Still, I fought my drooping eyelids and tired limbs with what I considered great effort until I couldn't hold off sleep any longer.

I was awoken by the giggles and chattering that accompanied my roommates piling into the room. With a moan I massaged my sore forehead, cursing myself under my breath for falling asleep with it smothered against the window. I stole a glimpse at the clock once more and swore audibly when I determined the clockwork hands to read 1:23. One of the girls looked up at me in surprise, obviously noticing me for the first time.

"Ginny! You scared me!" she gasped. "What are you doing up so late?"

I ignored her with a grimace, instead pressing my head against the glass windowpane again. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did I still had trouble picking shapes out of the black abyss outside my window. I was able to make out a large tree—the Whomping Willow, perhaps?—as well as Hagrid's hut, and then finally the lake. But where was the boy? I was not about to accept that he was gone, because that would have meant I had failed—and if there's anything you should know about me it is that I don't like losing. Ever. At anything. My being so stubborn was inevitable from the beginning; with a family full of pig-headed boys, it would have been entirely out of the question for me to not pick up on at least some of it.

So I continued my fruitless search for the lake's mystery visitor, completely disregarding the peculiar looks my roommates were shooting at me. I felt my annoyance growing when, after raking the length of the lake a third time, my eyes still seemed to be playing tricks on me. I mumbled unhappily under my breath about stupid disappearing boys for another minute or so before the same girl who had spoken before cleared her throat.

"Gin, what on earth are you doing?" she demanded, flipping her sleek black hair over her shoulder in irritation.

Finally forcing myself to call off the hunt (for then, at least), I looked over at her. "Oh, hullo, Lisa. Hey Bella," I added, nodding to a tiny brunette girl. I didn't bother greeting the rest of them—I had always liked Bella more than my other roommates. While I mostly thought of the other witches as obnoxious, I couldn't help but admire Bella. She was always so much more serene, more... balanced... than everybody else. She was kind, helpful, and utterly gorgeous—all in one small, curvy package. I often wondered how she managed being so terribly beautiful and yet so modest and humble. There was no doubt in my mind that if I looked that perfect I would have done nothing but sit in front of my bathroom mirror in awe of myself. As it were, I didn't have to worry about that sort of thing when I looked in a mirror. Mirrors, for me, were things to be avoided. It made me uncomfortable to look into one and see my pale, freckled sham of a face staring back... and even more than that, I hated the times I would stare for just a moment too long; when I began to see hurt etched on my dull brown eyes that made my heart ache all over again.

I made it my life's effort to keep Harry Potter out. Out of my head, out of my heart, and out of my memories. But I couldn't quite keep him out of my eyes. It was as if every part of him, every horrible, rotten part of him, had been sketched on my retinas, never to be erased. It took a swing at my pride when, looking at my eyes and the pain underlying, I realized how much I had really depended on Harry. And now that he was gone...

I bit my lip and stood. "Umm... it's awfully late, isn't it? I should go to bed. 'Night," I mumbled, stumbling over to my bed and collapsing onto it in exhaustion. I expected sleep to wash over me immediately, but when it didn't I lay still, eyes shut, considering the option of counting sheep. The other girls must have assumed I was asleep because they began moving around once more, slowly undressing and pulling themselves into their nightclothes.

"What was that all about?"

I recognized the voice as Victoria's and fought the urge to roll my eyes under their lids. I could easily imagine the haughty look on her bronze face as she spoke.

"I don't know. She was awfully cranky, don't you think?"

That had to be Justine. Her voice, tiny and high-pitched, sounded curious.

"Duh, Justine. Don't tell me you haven't noticed she gets like that when she hasn't had enough sleep? We have, after all, shared a dorm with her for two months."

"It's been a long two months," pouted Lisa. "I mean, what happened to her? Last year she was so cool, and this year... it's like she's just drifting along, you know? And she only ever hangs out with Loony Luna."

"Shh, guys. Cut Ginny some slack. You know how she was about Harry."

That was, of course, Bella. I half smiled to myself as the conversation eventually rolled on in a different direction. I was distantly aware of a light being switched off and the chatter dwindling—then I was out.

A/N: ...And there you have it.

I would like to note that I am aware of the fact that Masquerade Ball stories have been done and worn to the extent of the once exciting plot now being rather threadbare. I rather share Ginny's views on them, to tell the truth. Only a small portion of my fanfiction is actually the ball, though, so I'm hoping that I can get away with it.

R/R please!