Author's note: My sincerest thanks to the only person who has bothered reviewing, thank you Marinka :)
I do hope you all enjoy this chapter. Again I would consider it a personal favor if you people would review and tell me what you liked about it so I can go about bettering my writing and pleasing my fans. But of course, simply reading it and appreciating the time and effort it takes to piece together someone else's writing would also be cool.
Pansy sat in the bright light of her family's living room, tea in hand, steadfastly ignoring her mother's words, thinking only about what to wear to the Charity Ball. Poppy Parkinson wasn't speaking directly to her, so she wasn't worried about being accused of not caring. That was Poppy's main problem with her oldest daughter, and she was never quiet about expressing it.
The younger daughter, Pimelea, was her favorite, and had been for nine years.
"Dear," Mrs. Parkinson was saying, "I realize you're a bit young to be learning about your family's history, but really I'm just trying to teach you what's best."
The older daughter snorted softly. She didn't dislike her baby sister, not really, but she very much disliked her mother and saw how the woman's influence was corrupting the young girl. It made her sick to watch how very much Pimelea was becoming like their mother.
Poppy went on about how she would need to show signs of magical abilities soon, or she wouldn't be able to go to Hogwarts and meet fellow Pure-Bloods, or some other elitist nonsense. The fact that her mother had told Pansy the same things, which she had followed to the letter, didn't make her any less of an idiot in Pansy's eyes. Poppy had met her wealthy upper class husband, Clyde Parkinson, at Hogwarts, he in his fifth year and she in her third, both Slytherin, and they had married after Poppy became pregnant.
She had been sixteen at the time, and so dropped out of Hogwarts to raise the baby, and not a day went by that she didn't remind Pansy of "all the things I gave up for you".
Poppy's biggest worry was that Pimelea would be a squib. The shame that would bring on the Parkinson family caused her constant fear. How her society friends, all wives now with children as well, would scorn her. She would never be able to brag about marrying into a Pure-Blood family again.
Nine years old and not a single levitating rock or accidental hex. Pansy almost wanted Pimelea to be a squib, just so Poppy would shut up about it, but she knew otherwise. After her sixth year at Hogwarts, during a summer trip to Italy, Pansy had tried to teach a five-year old Pimelea to swim.
Instead of charming her to be able to breath under water, which would have been in proper wizarding style, she had taken an old and much respected approach. She shoved her into the deep end of their summer-house pool. What Pansy had expected, happened. Pimelea thrashed about in the clear, warm water, drank several gulps of it, then while Pansy yelled at her to relax, floated up to the top and nearly lifted herself out completely.
Pimelea had been too excited about learning how to swim to remember what had happened, and without the usual sort of loud excitement from adults, she hadn't known it was magic.
The more she grew, the sillier and high strung she became, just like Poppy herself. Pansy suspected that Pimelea would never be proficient in magic if she didn't learn to calm down and relax, but she had no doubt she would go to Hogwarts at age eleven... and perhaps that would make all the difference.
Pansy thanked fate, not for the first time, that Clyde Parkinson had not inherited his father's money and business until she was older. Pimelea was not so fortunate, and so only had her mother's guidance. Pansy might have felt guilty about not stepping in and trying to right some of the problems that she saw in Pimelea, but she always had hated children, and probably always would.
"Good day, young woman," said a tall, thin, very well dressed man, looking at her denim skirt with disapproval. "May I help you?"
"Hello, I want to buy a special occasion sort of dress." Ginny was nervous, this man was used to upper class customers with expensive taste, she had almost thirty Galleons to spend but was desperately hoping for a bargain.
"Ah, and may I ask your name?"
"My name is Ginevra Weasley." Why would he want to know that? Then it occurred to her that maybe he knew what families did and didn't have money. "I can afford one."
He simply laughed, giving her a strange look. "I'm very sure you can, my dear. My name is Aris Gavell," he bowed with a flourish. "A pleasure to meet you."
"Yes..." Ginny hesitated, this flamboyant man was suddenly acting rather pleasant. "It's nice to meet you too."
"So tell me, Miss Ginevra, what sort of special occasion dress do you have in mind?" He was looking her up and down, waiting for her response.
"Well," she began, "I was thinking nothing very flashy... but I'm not very sure what suits my coloring. I want to look classy, but... alluring?"
Aris was smiling at her with approval as well as something else, it reminded her of someone with a secret. "You've come to the right place. I'm going to make your dreams come true, little lady."
The next two hours passed in a flurry of activity and lively chatter from the tailor. Ginny herself did very little. He had led her to an elegant, well-lit back room and told her to disrobe, which she did with only a small amount of trepidation, though he didn't seem at all interested in her, aside from commenting that she had very nice skin.
Aris took her measurements, everything from her neck circumference to her foot length.
Ginny had given him free rein, and though he seemed rather excited, he didn't go wild with showing her many varieties of cloth.
He showed her a silky black fabric that shimmered slightly and though Ginny loved how it felt, she thought it bleached her skin too much. She nearly fell in love with a bolt of cloth that bled from deepest crimson to a dark magenta, but remembering Luna's theory about nargles, decided to pass it. The next cloth Aris showed her was beautiful, at first it seemed a deep green-blue, but when he moved closer it became completely blue, like the sea, then he held it up against her body and it seemed more emerald than blue.
As soon as Ginny pictured herself wearing a dress of that color in the soft, clingy material, she stopped feeling nervous about the ball, and instead felt excited.
Pansy looked into the full length mirror and admired herself. The black dress was long-sleeved, but the top of the sleeves barely graced her shoulders before swooping down the length of her back, mere inches above her tail-bone. The front of the dress was modest in comparison, stopping well above her breasts.
The thin material clung to her body until it reached her hips where it flared gently out down to her pointed black stilettos.
She didn't like for Pimelea to see her dressed this way, lest she suffer through the same thing Pansy herself experienced at that age; the deep desire to be an adult, with breasts and everything.
"You look pretty, Pansy," was all Pimelea said as she bounced on her big sister's large four-post bed.
"Yes, I do, don't I? Being naturally thin is a blessing, Lea. We have mother to thank for that."
Pimelea stopped bouncing. "Are you really going to marry Draco Malfoy? Is he handsome?"
Pansy froze in the process of removing her black opal earings. She felt an angry blush spreading up her chest. No doubt Mother has been overheard talking about the non-existent engagement... again. Pansy sighed. "Probably, though there are few things in life that are set in stone. And, yes, he is very handsome."
"Like a knight? Or like a prince?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Like a prince, I suppose. I have some things I need to do, Lea, I'm sure mother is wondering where you are."
Pimelea, used to such dismissal, nodded and walked out without a backward glance, leaving Pansy to think about marriage, duty, love and children in peace.
Draco's preparations on the night of the ball were scant compared to those of Ginny Weasley. While she bathed for thirty minutes, washing and conditioning her hair, and rubbing her sweet flowery soap against her skin, he took a five minute shower, complete with shampoo and body wash.
After drying off they both set about doing their hair. Draco parted his and brushed it back. Ginevra dried hers with a charm and, after applying an anti-frizz potion, brushed it for five minutes. She then put large curlers in, keeping them in place with another spell.
At that point the Minister was dressed in his elegant robes, only stopping to appreciate how the color made his eyes look more silver than usual, before leaving to oversee the last-minute preparations at the lake house.
Ginny let the curlers set while she dressed. Aris had truly done an amazing job with the dress, and she luxuriated in the feel of slipping into it. She admired the shoes that he had sent her to match, they were strappy blue-green high heels with small jewels embedded in them. Her jewelry was impeccable, and she admired Aris' taste... though she had the strange feeling that someone else had a hand in it.
Aris had told her that the jewelry was on loan, and that's why she didn't have to pay for it, but the dress and shoes had only cost five Galleons, which seemed unbelievable considering the time it must have taken. She just didn't see who her benefactor could be, or perhaps didn't want to see.
It took just slightly less than an hour for her to cajole her hair into the updo that Aris had told her would look perfect for the occasion. With a touch of red lipstick and mascara Ginny felt ready. She looked in the mirror at herself with a sigh of relief. Finally... for better or worse this night had come. She would see Draco, speak with him, maybe dance with him, and hopefully be rid of the nagging wish to prove herself to him.
Walking quietly on the Hogwarts grounds, feeling the balmy night air against her skin... it should have felt good, peaceful, but she had a most curious feeling. A premonition, perhaps. One that told her this night would not end on the happy note she hoped. Probably just nerves, she told herself, and apparated silently to the beautiful house by the lake.
"Minister," said Othelia breathlessly. "All is going wonderfully! Hardly have we opened the doors and already half the guests have arrived. I don't know how you managed it, but I have no doubt this ball will be spoken of for weeks. I dare say a column in the Daily Prophet would not be a stretch of the imagination."
"Yes," Draco said distractedly. "I'm sure you're right."
"I'm going to go make my rounds. I suggest you do the same. Must keep up appearances, mustn't we?" She giggled and moved away, leaving Draco grimacing at the familiar sound.
"She's very... enthusiastic, isn't she?" Pansy said scathingly.
"You haven't done much maturing since your school days, have you?" Draco replied, easily surpassing her scornfulness.
"Oh, my. I did not recognize you, Saint Malfoy. My apologies." She sneered at him and walked away, hips swaying beneath her dark black dress.
Draco frowned slightly before turning to take the advice of Miss Cobblestone, who was near the double glass doors, which were enchanted to display pretty, swirling light configurations.
Several wizards introduced themselves to him immediately, including the founder of Zonko's Joke Shops. A man named Ifor Veredas shook his hand vigorously after declaring himself, in his rather garish accent, a Spanish merchant who was living in Scotland for the summer. "I am here on business as well as pleasure," he said with a broad smile. "I do enjoy the way your British wizarding society works. Truly fascinating."
A thin smile was all the expression he could conjure. "I'll be sure to visit Spain when the opportunity next presents itself, Mr. Veredas. I must thank you for stopping to speak with me, but I believe your lady is impatient for a dance." Indeed his date, the very rich, and recently divorced, Marisin Hatchet, looking not a day over thirty though she was in her mid forties, had been shooting Draco flirtatious glances from where she was standing amidst several of her female peers, for several minutes now.
"I believe you are correct," Ifor chuckled, looking at Marisin with adoration. "Women, eh? Let us speak again later!" He strode to Marisin and whisked her to the dance floor, leaving behind several jealous women who were not so fortunately divorced or attractive.
I almost feel bad for the lout, Draco thought rather generously.
A familiar head of fluffy brown hair caught his eye as he made his way to the side of an acquaintance. He had almost forgotten that Hermione Granger was now the junior assistant to Boris Trollbridge, the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
The sudden fleeting thought that she was wasting her talents in that field made him feel nearly sick. If my father could hear me now, he thought in disgust. Talents! Being a know-it-all isn't a talent. But, in her case, it was. And he knew it. Pansy is right, I am becoming a saint.
Deciding to ignore his idle thoughts, as well as distract himself from the strange nervous vigilance he was experiencing, he let himself be absorbed by the flow of introductions and the easy charm he could exude in the right situations.
After about half an hour the flow of guests slowed to a trickle, the large ballroom was now loud with merry conversation and music, and as Draco went to let out a sigh, the sight before him made the breath catch in his throat.
God, he looks so handsome! Ginny thought as soon as she laid eyes on the Minister of Magic. Small fires blazed in various parts of her body, but she made sure to put them out before coming to a stop in front of him. His palest blonde hair was parted to the side and swept back off his face, looking silky against the darkness of his clothing. He truly cut a dashing figure amidst the bright colors and finery around him, looking for all the world like a young king among his courtiers.
Ginny's throat felt tight with desperate wishes that things were different. With a force of will that she rarely had need of, she strengthened her resolve against him and tried to relax.
Ginevra was dressed in a blue-green gown that had eyes like those found in the feather of a peacock sown in sparkling gold thread around the hem and bodice. The cut of the dress was elegant and modest but the thin, clinging fabric was anything but. Her brilliant copper hair was swept elegantly atop her head and held by spiking combs littered with sapphires, emeralds and peridot. Small peacock feathers hung from her ears and a heavy necklace of the same stones was twined about her slim neck.
She looked exotic and beautiful like an elaborate peacock herself, and as she glided towards him like a queen.
Draco ached for the girl he had forced them both to lose.
"Minister Malfoy," she murmured softly, and as she approached he was curious to see the soft glint in her eyes that teased him with the chance that the girl he loved was only hiding.
"Miss Weasley," he nodded coolly though his eyes traced her curves and he stepped closer than strictly necessary to catch the scent of her flowery skin.
Eyes were upon them, the calculating blue of Pansy, the tired green of Harry, the indignant blue of Ron, and a dozen or so society matrons, eyes lit with feral curiosity and scandalous anticipation.
"Such an honor to be here, Minister," she said softly. The crowd leaned imperceptibly forward, hushed conversations abounded. Even the dancers slowed to watch their political official and the Weasley girl whose family feud was well-known. Would sparks fly? Would tempers flare?
"Likewise, Miss Weasley. The last I saw of you was during our honored schooling. I am most pleased to see that you are doing well and did not suffer unduly during war times."
A polite, courteous comment, neither probing nor inflammatory. Commiserating without being coy.
"Thank you, although the war has made victims of us all. Might I say that it is wonderful to see such a capable Minister in office."
Draco inclined his pale head in acknowledgment of the comment, and offered the young woman his arm, knowing that he was taking the process too quickly, but desperate to hold her.
"My gratitude for your compliments, Miss Weasley. Might I beg a dance from you?"
As her hand touched him he shivered in longing, mind flooded with moonlit images of her sprawled beneath him, head thrown magnificently back and the scent of blood and sweat lingering in his nostrils.
"Certainly, I would be honored." Her voice quivered.
As he led her out to the floor, the chatter resumed, a flurry of speculation and rumor, because they made such a striking couple, and they seemed to be matched so well, and wasn't that Pansy Parkinson glaring daggers at the two from the corner?
"Did I prepare well enough for your coming, Draco," she hissed at him, flinging his threat back at him and drawing his attention to her beautiful raiment and upswept coiffure.
He had personally selected every garment, every jewel, to suit her brilliant coloring and curving figure.
"I always take care with my preparations."
He hinted at his hand in her attire, something she had no doubt concluded for herself, and she glared at him fiercely even as her hand crept around his shoulder in a soft caressing motion.
"I won't be a part of these manipulations, Draco. I've rid myself of your particular plague."
He smiled coolly, pressing his hand into her back as he swept her across the dance floor, pulling her indecently close to him hard enough to hurt.
"If I am a plague then you are a contagion. I promised myself that I would have you once again, Ginevra. You deny the truth we both know."
He silenced himself as another couple drew close, but as their steps took them away he continued.
"I have loved you beyond all reason, and absence only strengthened what I feel for you. I have devoted myself to everything around me, simply to come to you again."
Her hand fisted the silky richness of his robes.
"You're a liar. You made yourself what you are for politics and money and the Malfoy name."
"Benefits, Ginevra, benefits."
Ginny's heart beat faster at the sincerity in his seductive voice, which, she realized, lacked most of the venom he could never seem to contain just a couple years ago. Emotions she wanted only to deny tugged at her.
She scoffed quietly, but otherwise remained silent, avoiding his silver gaze.
"I don't want our dance to end," he murmured.
She nearly stumbled as a sharp memory seared her nerves. This is our dance, he had whispered in her ear as he removed her clothing, before he made love to her, sucking the breath from her body with heady kisses and hot ardor. In the end leaving her a glass-eyed, sweaty husk, ecstasy and love still shooting through her veins.
How will I ever escape these memories? She cried inwardly.
Her gasp had been heard by a few other couples who looked on curiously before the dance swept them away. Draco kept his face calm and strengthened his hold on her, but he was worried that his reference to their past had shocked her too strongly.
With one last twirl the waltz ended and the couples clapped for the band and split off with new partners or drifted from the dance floor towards their seats or refreshments. Ginny's cheeks were red and she hardly glanced at him before moving away, maintaining her graceful appearance before leaving through the glass doors into the open air.
Draco saw Harry move to go after her but Ron stopped him and hurried after her himself. His pulse beat an angry rhythm as he swept to the side of a young woman whose father happened to be the very wealthy owner of the beauty product line Circe's Secrets, and asked her if she would care to dance. This was a charity event, after all, and as long as Harry remained within his sight he need not worry.
"Ginny," said Ron worriedly, as he caught up to her. The path was well lit, surrounded by pretty bushes that flickered with fairy lights. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine Ron," she said in a rather unconvincing voice. "I know what you must think. Pathetic little Ginny, forever chasing after someone she shouldn't want..."
"That's not what I think," He said in exasperation.
"What else?"
"That you have every right to be angry at that arrogant scab!" Ron grabbed her slender shoulders and pulled her to him. "I know I haven't seen you often since... everything happened, but I noticed, Gin. Many of us did."
"Gods, Ron. I tried so hard to hide it," she was near tears and he squeezed her harder.
"It's alright, Ginny, we can't help how we feel sometimes. I wish it had turned out differently, and it's not like a war is any use in forgetting, no matter how hard we try to throw ourselves into being helpful."
Ginny laughed shakily, "When did you become so understanding, big brother?"
Ron smiled. "Since I realized that nothing in this world is simple. Life isn't black and white. If my past failed relationships taught me anything it's that."
"Thanks for not dying" she said jokingly, pulling away from his hug. "I don't know what I would do without you."
"Be even more of a drunkard?" He suggested with mild disapproval.
"Neville is a tattle-tale," she grimaced.
"He's a good friend, Gin."
Ginny was feeling rather ungenerous towards him at that moment, so she said nothing.
"Let's go back inside, Malfoy will have my hide if he knows I've neglected my duties for you."
"Oh I'm sure, the bastard."
Ron laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders, guiding her inside before smiling and slipping away.
The moment Ginny saw Draco dancing with a remarkably pretty woman who was speaking animatedly to him, her feet carried her to the bar without a thought for what Ron might say, or any consequences.
The only thing her mind registered was the need to forget, just as it always had, and always would.
This dance was, fortunately, faster paced and ended quickly. No more dances with chatty air-heads, he decided, walking towards the bright red hair seated at the bar before he realized where he was heading and that he was being watched by too many pairs of curious eyes.
Blast them all to hell, he thought spitefully, without slowing his pace, I did not become Minister of Magic to toe the line in front of a gaggle of bored socialites.
Her small, pale hand shook on the stem of her wine glass. He watched her tip her head back and swallow over half the glass before extending her arm for the bartender to refill it, which he did with a guilty look on his face.
"You seem familiar with demanding drinks from reluctant barkeepers, Ginevra," He said quietly. Already rather tipsy she had not noticed him standing so close, she nearly spilled her wine but he reached out to steady the glass, wrapping his hand around hers.
"Release my hand, if you would please, Minister," she said coldly.
After several seconds he did, and she drank a large gulp of her liberated wine.
"Why are you drinking so profusely?"
"Oh! Profusely, am I? Because I want to, Draco," Ginny hissed, glaring at him with sad, angry eyes.
"If you're not careful you will end up making a fool of yourself."
"You already beat me to that," she muttered, glaring into her empty glass. "This is our dance, indeed. Like I haven't been trying to forget you for two years, as it is."
Draco's body ached with sadness, with the need to touch her, console her, so he did. His hand slid down her soft, slender arm, the barest of touches. He almost expected her to lash out at him, but her reaction was something he did not expect.
A large tear slid down her beautiful face, which otherwise remained remarkably composed. "I can be like ice too, Draco," she murmured sadly, without even seeming to notice what she said. Then she shoved her glass at the bartender imperiously.
Draco was so stunned he didn't realize the need to stop the man from refilling her glass. Instead he sighed, "Ginevra, please. I need you to understand."
He made to reach for her glass as she drug it shakily to her lips, but she evaded him much more deftly than seemed possible, standing in the process. Ginny swallowed it down in one gulp, covering her mouth with a freckled hand as she let out a burp.
"How much wine has she drank?" He angrily asked the man behind the bar.
He stuttered. "I-I believe perhaps six or seven glasses?"
"Nearly an entire bottle of wine!" Draco was looking at the man with profound anger in his cold grey eyes.
"I... she... seemed to be holding it well?"
He heard Ginny say "excuse me, please," to an elderly couple several feet away. Then "oh I do apologize" to a group of men which she had wended her way through.
"I will deal with you when I return."
Her path was a ragged zig-zag, but Draco had no doubt she meant to head outside, and he went to intercept her.
When Ginny finally did reach the doors Draco was standing, barring her way. "Where are you going, Ginevra?"
"Away, you pompous prat, where do you think?" Ginny's voice was slurred and she had trouble focusing on his face.
"And how do you plan on arriving away?"
"I'm very confidant in my abilities to apparate, Minister."
"It is illegal to apparate and disapparate while drunk, Miss Weasley." Draco's patience was wearing thin, but he did not know how a severely drunk Ginevra Weasley acted and so felt the need to keep her talking.
"Yes, well I'd like to see you stop me!" Suddenly she was brandishing her wand in his face and he became worried as he saw several of his Aurors, including Harry intend to come to his aid. The irony of that struck him as humorous in a dim way, though most of his attention was focused on the tip of Ginevra's wand, which nearly jabbed his eye in her gusto.
Expelliarmus, he thought, pointing his own wand, which he had retrieved from his robes without having to be the slightest bit sneaky, up at hers.
It flew up towards the ceiling, but with another muttered spell it flew to his hand and into his pocket along with his own.
The surprised confusion on Ginny's face at the loss of her wand told Draco truly how drunk she was and it felt as though he had swallowed acid as he realized that she truly had intended to apparate somewhere, and the gruesome consequences of it flashed through his mind.
This is the Ginevra I made, he told himself. I had the knowledge that I could get her back sustaining me and the entire time she believed she had lost me entirely and so sought to erase me from her memories, which I knowingly made impossible.
"Ginevra please..." Draco hoped that the earnestness in his voice would dissuade her from further antics. The pain in her eyes and face confirmed everything he did not want to know. He saw, in that instant, how the past two years had been for her. A harsh, gut-wrenching roller coaster of sadness and denial, memories and loneliness and betrayal.
She seemed ready to crumple to the floor in a puddle of tears, but instead she shoved him with all her strength. He fell back, but caught himself against the door frame in time to see Ginny regain her balance and fling herself through the doors.
He ran after her as quickly as his long legs would take him and heard the sharp crack of sloppy dissaparation before desperately throwing himself through the gap she made in space.
Oh, yeah.. the next chapter might take a while to write because I pretty much have to come up with a lot of story to fit Glass Mermaid's plot, but without it I wouldn't have anything. Na'mean?
Please review.
