Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!
A/N: Many thanks to Indy for her beta-ing help. My first attempt at a Draco/Ginny, and it'll be about five chapters, I think. I really hope you like it!

Inspired by, written for the birthday of, and just generally for: Marisa.

'I heard that Ginny Weasley's been spending almost every evening at Malfoy's house!'

'Every evening? I read in Witch Weekly that she went during the day once!'

'Really? In plain sight?'

'Apparently! But do you blame her? Even after his name was cleared, there's still something dark about him, don't you think?'

'You know I do! It's so sexy! The way he..'

Ginny listened to the conversation until the women turned a corner away from her as she walked towards the Leaky Cauldron to meet Hermione for lunch. It was starting to get annoying, hearing about herself and Draco. She had not been spending every evening at the Manor, and certainly not for the reason that they were implying.

Since she'd had to stop playing for the Harpies (a career ending Bludger to the shoulder meant that any strenuous exercise on it meant that she'd be in serious trouble), she'd taken up writing for Which Broomstick magazine. It wasn't the same Witch Broomstick as her brothers had immediately thought (she had too much dignity to work for Witch Broomstick). It was a good, interesting job, and she enjoyed it immensely. Usually, she reviewed new brooms, commentated Quidditch matches, or interviewed the players.

Because she had previously played with and against them, she was often friends with the players, so these interviews usually ended in drunken laughter and silliness, rather than serious interviewing.

Her article on Draco was different. It had been given a special, front page slot in the March issue, which was a highly sought after spot by the broom companies. Instead, it had been given over to Malfoy, who was now working as manager for the Wimbourne Wasps. Personally, Ginny wasn't sure how he'd managed to gain such a position. It seemed to her that he had decided to spend his inheritance bribing his way to the top, and pouring more money than was necessary into the club. She also wasn't entirely sure that his money didn't have something to do with his landing the prime slot.

He didn't seem to have very much time to spare for the article, considering that it was a major piece of advertising for the team. She'd spoken to him for half an hour in his office a week ago, at a lunch time for around an hour, and once after work for a little longer. The interviewing was a slow process, because there were many bases the editor wanted her to cover.

Of course, there was the expected: the team, who was going to be first, who was going to be on the reserve, which brooms they would use, who the team were most nervous about facing, what had convinced him to take the job, how he was finding it… the list she'd been given of things to include had seemed endless. Eddie Hepstead, Ginny's boss, had also requested some questions about his return from the wilderness, as he had elegantly stated it. Ginny wasn't keen to know, but still, she had to ask.

As she sat opposite Hermione at their usual corner table, she split her time between being told about Hermione's progress at work, and thinking about the note she had received from Draco earlier in the day:

Floo to the Manor tonight, at seven o'clock sharp. Kindly use your journalistic contacts to stem the rumours. They are not appreciated.

- Draco

The note left no room for argument, and frankly, Ginny didn't mind having her evening disrupted. She wouldn't be able to see Harry anyway, or Ron and Hermione. The three of them were going to Godric's Hollow that evening, and Ginny was happier not to go. It was a ritual after all these years for them, and she had no part in it. Which was okay; if it made Harry feel better that way, then she was in no position to feel bitter.

She just wished that she didn't have to go to the Manor to meet him.

The Manor was a cold, unforgiving place, with tall doorways and a constant chill. Oh, there was no doubting its magnificence. Everywhere she seemed to turn there was another reminder of the Malfoy's wealth and style. Her entire flat could fit into the entrance hall, and she was sure that most of the Burrow could fit neatly into the drawing room. The carpets were thick, the walls were ornate and the décor lavish. Sitting on one of the sofas was like settling onto a cloud.

But it was empty. Draco seemed to wisp through it, like smoke, and since Narcissa's death, he had lived there alone. He had several house elves, she thought, to help with the upkeep. The house was cold, because it was lonely. Growing up in the Burrow, she had sensed that reason almost immediately. It was too quiet. Really, Ginny pitied him.

That didn't mean she wanted to go, especially when his note was so rude. It was, she mused, because she was a Weasley, and no matter what he wanted the world to think, some things never changed. It was this that she told Hermione, when she asked her how the article was coming along.

'It does sound a little blunt.' She replied, judging neither way. 'Is he the same when you're asking the questions?'

'No, Hermione,' she told her friend with a sigh. 'He's nothing but courteous and polite when we're interviewing.'

'Has to be, I suppose -' Hermione thought aloud.

'Exactly. But it's just so … aggravating because I know he dislikes me so much.' Ginny continued.

'I'm sure he doesn't, Gin,' she said slowly. 'Perhaps he just isn't much of a letter writer?'

Ginny laughed. 'Yes, possibly.'

As much as she found herself wanting to, they didn't linger any longer on Draco, or her visit that evening. The day was, Hermione pointed out, the 31st of October, and Harry's wellbeing suddenly seemed more important. Even if they weren't currently an item (six years was a long time for someone so young, she had told him, and she needed a little while alone before she could settle down for good), she had to know that he was going to be okay.

'Really, Ginny, he's usually very calm. I think having us there probably helps.'

Ginny wondered, not for the first time, who Harry would ever have been without Hermione and Ron. She didn't doubt that she owed her Harry to them, at least partially.

Somehow, she'd managed to forget that the 31st of October was also Halloween, but this was how she was greeted as she stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance hall of the Manor.

'Happy Halloween, Ginevra,' Draco nodded slightly, moving to kiss each of her cheeks, as was polite in pureblood society. His lips lingered a little, as they pressed where they should have only hinted. He was dressed elaborately, even more than usual (and he always seemed to be putting on a show for someone).

'Oh, it's Halloween?' She asked, more to herself than him, but he answered nonetheless.

'Of course it is Halloween. Can you not see all of my decorations?' He smirked. He was teasing her, and she did not appreciate it. It was unprofessional. She narrowed her eyes at him.

'Should we go somewhere to continue with the questions? I have to ask you about -'

' - questions? Not tonight, no,' he stopped her. 'You want to work on Halloween? I'm afraid that it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to engage you in work on a holiday.'

Ginny felt her temper flair. 'Then why did you ask me here? I could be seeing my family, or Harry!'

'Incorrect, and we both know it,' he smiled, charmingly. 'I'm sure Potter will be elsewhere, on this evening?'

His tone wasn't malicious, so she didn't argue. She raised one eyebrow at him, questioning how he knew such intimate details about Harry. It was public knowledge though, that Halloween had been the evening that his parents had died. It didn't take a genius to add two and two.

'If you're being so gentlemanly all of a sudden, may I ask why we're still standing by the Floo?' Ginny asked instead, feeling herself putting on airs.

'Oh, of course,' he bowed deeply. 'Come through to the parlour. You mustn't meet the rest of the company looking as you do. I don't want you worrying about the Floo, either; the other guests have been allowed to enter directly into the Hall.

'The rest of the guests? You're … having a party?'

He ushered her into the parlour. She knew this room, as it was the only one besides the entrance hall that she had seen more than fleetingly. He had brought her in here previously, and sat sprawled far too elegantly across an armchair, while she had sat very straight on the sofa, notebook and quill in hand.

It was a lovely room, with a large, roaring fire, tall windows and plush red carpets matching the red details on the walls. It took all of her effort not to sink into the sofa. She still didn't know why he had invited her, if he was having a party, and she attempted to retain some level of professionalism. It hadn't crossed her mind at any point that she was being invited to a party at the Manor. She and Draco got on, certainly, but they weren't friends by any stretch of the imagination. Even if he had invited her only for appearances' sake, his letter did not explain this. Her presence was demanded, not requested.

She repeated her previous question.

'Yes.' Draco looked at a heavy-looking gold clock on the mantelpiece, 'luckily you're still a little early. I believe the invitations said seven-thirty.' He looked then at her clothes. 'Why did you not dress for the occasion?'

Ginny blushed Weasley-red. 'I didn't know I was being invited to a party! I still don't know why I'm here -'

'- it's a ball.'

'What?'

'Not a party. A ball, as is tradition.'

'Oh. Do I have to wear a costume?' She asked, distracted momentarily from her query. She shook her head. 'Wait, wait. Why am I here?'

'Well,' Draco's carefully calculated answer had clearly been though about at great length. 'I suppose because it seemed like it would be beneficial for you to get a better picture of me, and this seemed like the ideal way to do so. Knowing what I do of you, if I had sent you a formal invitation, I would have received a polite note of rejection. So I simply didn't tell you.'

Ginny didn't know how he knew, but he was right. She would never have attended an event like this, thrown by the Malfoys for hundreds of years. She had no idea who the other invitees might be. She couldn't doubt the advantages of his plan though. It would help her to formulate a better article if she could see him with a wider set of people.

'Makes sense.' She nodded her acceptance of this. 'Should I have worn a costume?'

'No, Ginevra, as we are not thirteen years old, formal attire and a mask is acceptable.'

'Well how do you propose I do that in ten minutes?' She asked crossly. Certainly, it was not the first of such events she had attended. The Ministry sometimes held a Halloween ball, which she had been taken to by Harry. Then, formal dress robes and a mask were suggested. Had she been given suitable warning, it would have been easy for her to be ready.

'Well, being a witch, and this not being your first, I would have thought there were ways around such issues?'

Damn him for being so smooth, and so Slytherin.

She flicked her wand, and last year's plum and tangerine-lined robes materialised in front of her. Draco bowed his head mockingly, and left so that she could change. He really was going out of his way to make himself infuriating to her, and yet she couldn't put her finger on why. He wasn't being especially difficult. He had deceived her into coming to his party, he had made her forget that she could do magic to get her clothes, and he was being particularly patronising. But all that was in a days work for him.

Ginny scowled to herself as she changed. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be at home in her flat, writing her article based on what she had already learned about him. She was supposed to be objective, but her editor didn't seem to realise how difficult that was for her. He should have assigned the writing to Simms, who was a better journalist by far. Ginny was only really good at those subjects directly related to the playing of the sport.

This article, Draco, wasn't a game that could be won or lost. During the war, she was either going to be good or bad - they were going to win, or they were going to lose. When she played Quidditch, they either won, or lost, and when she was reporting, it could only really go one way, or the other.

It is a good job I'm a witch, she mused. Glamour charms really are the most wonderful invention.