A/N: Thanks to all the readers.
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"Now, remember, Ginny, you're not supposed to spend all your time talking to the people you already know!" hissed Colin.
"It's true," agreed Tony. "You're not."
"You're supposed to work the room, so remember that and start just as soon as we get in there. You're supposed to make contacts. Meet and greet."
"It's true." Tony nodded. "You are."
"You're not supposed to stand glued to the catering table and try to drink your way to the bottom of the white Zinfandel, especially when you know that your tolerance level is about one-half teaspoon."
"That's true. You're—"
"Shut up!" snapped Ginny. "I never have more than one glass, I'll have you know." This was perhaps just the slightest bit of artistic exaggeration, but then, as she reminded herself, she was an artist. She'd earned the right to it.
"I suppose you'd be right, if we were talking about a glass the size of the shark aquarium at the Brighton Zoo," said Colin.
She glared at him. "I might need to relax. A bit of wine might help."
"You can't relax," said Colin. "You're going to be on display. You'll be the center of attention, Gin. You can't exactly stand there and guzzle litres of white Zinfandel until you're thoroughly pissed and about to pass out, you know."
"Ooh—" Her fists clenched. A black-clad man with manicured nails and a monocle in one eye was sauntering past the velvet rope and into the front door of the gallery. He stopped and stared at her in apparent alarm, whispering to his two bony, non-breasted female companions, both of whom wore the sort of blousy empire-waisted dresses that Ginny had always known made her look about nineteen months pregnant.
"That's Capote Killingsworth," Tony whispered frantically in her ear. "He's a terribly influential art critic. You've got to make an amazingly good impression on him, Ginny, or you might as well start sharpening your pencil to draw ten-minute portraits at county fairs straightaway."
Ginny dropped her hands to her sides immediately. A large group of glossy people passed them on their way into the studio, giggling and chatting.
"Darling, I've even never heard of this artist before. Jenny Wesley, did you say? The name sounds horribly common."
"She's one of Zenobia's little protégés, I suppose."
A tinkle of laughter.
"Well, is there anything amusing to attend after we've put in the obligatory ten minutes here?"
"Cheer up. Zen's wine list can be rather good."
"I doubt it. Nothing but white Zinfandel; what would you wager?"
Ginny sagged against the brick wall, her stomach churning. "I can't go in there," she whispered.
"It's eight o'five," said Tony. "You've got to go in. You don't know what Zenobia's like with tardy artists. I've heard that she's been known to kill and eat them just to prove a point. I mean, she does like you, so I doubt she'd go quite that far, but she does have a way of making you feel really, really bad when she asks you if you actually own a watch—"
"Look, is there some other way in?" Ginny interrupted. "Just so that I could avoid this crowd?"
"There's the back door, but I don't think that will be an improvement," Tony said dubiously. "It's absolutely infested with gatecrashers."
"Tony, come on," she pleaded. "There's got to be something else. How about a side door?"
"I suppose it's possible," he said slowly. "But Ginny, I don't think it's a very good idea to try to find one."
"What do you mean?" she asked impatiently. It was getting closer and closer to ten minutes after eight all the time.
"I've worked at this gallery for over a year, and it can be a very strange place. I've seen storage rooms appear and disappear, stained glass windows turn into blank walls and back again, and there used to be a corridor that didn't lead anywhere in particular… one day it was simply gone…" Tony shook his head.
"That sounds rather like Hogwarts."
"Yes, but this is different. I'm not even sure I can say how. We're supposed to be in Muggle London, for one thing, so none of this should be happening. But it also feels different. Whenever I see things changing around here, I've learned not to notice, not to quite see them, because it just feels safer, somehow. Ginny, what are you looking at?"
She was craning her head round the side the building. "I clearly see a side door, Tony."
"It wasn't there before. That's a distinctly bad sign. You've got to stay away. Are you listening to me?"
"No."
He sighed. "Just wait a moment, and we'll both take you in the front, once this group goes through—Colin? Where did he go?" Tony glanced round.
"Fuck," gasped Colin, tearing round the corner. "Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck!"
"Something's wrong?" asked Tony.
"Yes, you could say that! Rita Skeeter's here!"
Tony groaned. "Shite, of all the things we don't need to deal with right now—"
"It gets worse," Colin said grimly.
"It always does, when she's involved."
"This isn't funny, Tony! She says she's got Harry Potter with her, and—Ginny, where are you going?"
Unfortunately, it was too late to catch her, and by the time they had reached the side of the building, the door had disappeared.
"Is she always like this?" Tony asked Colin.
"Yes."
"It must make her rather difficult to live with."
"It's a good thing that I don't live with her, then," said Colin. "But she's something, Ginny Weasley." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "There are so many things I could say about her, but the one that sums it all up the best is that there are moments when she really makes me wish I wasn't bent."
"Oh," said Tony. "Well. I suppose we'd better get back to the gallery, then. We'll need to explain to Zen that Ginny's managed to get herself lost in some alternate reality or other."
"Is something wrong?"
"No. Let's get going."
"You know, I've always thought that 'his face fell' was only an expression," mused Colin, "but I think that yours actually has. Is there any particular reason?"
"None, really. Except that I was wondering something, a bit. If you've got yearning-to-be-straight moments on Ginny Weasley's account every now and then, well, how does the bent state strike you the rest of the time?"
"I'm happy with it."
"Really? How happy?"
"Quite." Colin put his hand over Tony's. "Very, very much, sometimes."
"Is this one of those times?"
"Mm-him." He leaned towards the other boy, and their lips met in a soft, sweet, tender kiss.
Behind the side door, a tall, silvery-haired Immortal with grey eyes watched the pair, a smirk on his impossibly beautiful face. "Ah, young love," he sighed. "It's so touching. And their path will be so smooth and easy. I won't bother them the least bit. Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley, on the other hand…" The smirk widened, and became impossibly devilish. But that was, after all, appropriate enough.
Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the door closed behind her. She was standing in a large, wide, well-lit corridor, and when she stood very still and listened, she was sure she could hear the faint hum of voices. It would obviously be extremely easy to find her way to the gallery.
She remained sure of this for a remarkably long time. Later, she thought that the signs were what had fooled her. They'd looked so official.
Storage Room A. Gallery B—Closed for Renovations. Janitor's Closet. Please Take Stairs: Elevator Out Of Order. Once, she'd even found a very nice loo, where she'd brushed her hair and freshened her makeup. Another time, she'd munched from a small snack table spread with an assortment of cheese and crackers, and picked up a filled glass of white zinfandel. She sipped at it as she walked. She still heard the hum of voices, and the lights and signs and pleasant smell of lemons were all very reassuring.
But then everything began to go wrong.
Dragon Display Closed for Refurbishing. June 7 Opening Party Unavoidably Rescheduled for November.
That was Draco's birthday, she thought, continuing to walk. Yesterday. Oh, gods, yesterday. I suppose I shoved it underneath everything, somehow. I wonder what sort of opening party it is, though? And why was it rescheduled?
The corridor took a sudden turn, and Ginny almost stumbled, because it had narrowed. The lighting was growing dimmer and dimmer, too. Both changes had begun so subtly that she couldn't even have said when they started. She peered up at a sign on the wall.
Guinevere's Body of Work Closed for the Present. Initiation Will Take Place On or About December 1st.
A chill swept over Ginny. How could a body of work would be initiated? she wondered. That doesn't sound right. And- She blinked. The walls had been painted a soothing white all along. They were covered with dark red wallpaper now. How could she ever have thought that the lights were smooth and even and bright? The sconces cast pools of orange on the wooden floor, each separated by sinister darkness.
Ginny breathed deeply. She'd taken a wrong turn somehow. That was all. She walked briskly forward, but she couldn't seem to get anywhere; the corridors kept turning and twisting every time she was sure she heard the distant hum of voices again, and finally the hall ended, boxing her into a corner. She looked around wildly. She was completely surrounded by dark wooden doors on all sides, each furnished with an old-fashioned, ornate lock below its doorknob. The chills swept over her skin regularly now, one after another, and she couldn't hide the truth from herself anymore.
She'd seen this corridor before. Obfirmo, the Malfoy lock, had let her into the vault at Gringotts, and she had somehow ended up here. She'd stood here, perhaps even in the very same spot. She'd watched Draco dangle Astoria over a bottomless pit of his own making, coming within a hair's breadth of dropping her. He'd only stopped when he'd seen her horrified face, and she could never know for sure if he would have let Astoria fall otherwise. One night later, she'd dreamed of opening Draco's chest and finding this place in his heart. And whatever it really was, wherever it could possibly be, she had entered it again.
You've got to stay away, Tony said. I didn't listen to him.
"This is all my fault," she said aloud.
A door opened. "Well, I'd say that someone's got to be responsible," said an irritated voice, and Daphne Greengrass stepped into the corridor.
"What are you doing here?" Ginny exclaimed.
"Chasing Dean Thomas about like a damn fool," snapped Daphne. "This never would have happened if he'd only stay in one place."
"Dean?" Ginny was starting to feel dizzier by the second.
"Yes, Dean. I tried to tell him that I've got to talk to him, because he might have some desperately important information that I've got to learn, and he only gave me one of those infuriatingly superior looks of his and told me that he didn't think we had anything more to say to each other than we ever had at school—"
"Wait, wait, wait. What would Dean Thomas know, and why would you have to know it?"
"It's something to do with St. Mungo's, of course, at the ward where he works," Daphne said impatiently. "It's somehow involved with the terrible thing that's coming. I'm not quite sure how he's connected with the death, but he's in deep—"
"Daphne!" Ginny grabbed the other woman by her perfectly manicured hands. "Listen to me. You sound like you're absolutely mad. What the fuck's going on?"
A look of confusion came over the flawlessly made-up face. "I don't know. I was walking across the gallery, and I saw Dean go through a sort of side door, and I followed him… I'm not quite sure what happened after that. It all looked quite normal at first, and then things began to go a bit queer." She looked around her. "Ginny, where are we?"
"I don't have any more idea than you do. But listen, Daphne, we've got to find Dean—we've got to find out what's going on, and I have to tell you something. I had a—" Ginny gulped.
"There he is," said Daphne. "I saw him." She turned back to the door she'd come through, which was still ajar.
Ginny plucked at her sleeve. "No, Daphne, wait. This could be important. It was a dream, or at least I think it was, and Draco was talking about Astoria, or at least I think he was, and he said—"
She was talking to empty air. Daphne had vanished, and the door was closed. Ginny rattled at the doorknob without success. She was alone in the corridor again.
She tried to walk the other way, but the floor seemed to turn under her feet and send her back each time she tried. Then she made the rounds of the doors rather grimly, trying each knob. Every one was locked. She slid down to the floor, trying not to cry. She could still hear the soft, faraway murmur of voices. How was that possible, when she had to be a million miles from anywhere? If she craned her ears, she was positive that she could almost hear what they said, or at least catch a few words. These sculptures. Those statues. That sketch. Mm-hm. Mumble. Psst bz bz bzz… They were talking about her art, she was sure o it.
And it was almost as if she could hear the art itself calling out to her, all the pieces she'd crafted, their voices as sad as lost children longing for reunion. As sad as…
Go away," he said. "I don't want you here. I've told you that."
No. No! I swore I wasn't going to go over that again!
But she had no choice now. There was nothing to distract her. Only the dim corridor, and the silent doors, and the terrible, creeping fear. Even thinking about Draco Malfoy was better than that.
He shut his eyes, and you saw the pain on his face, her treacherous mind whispered to her. Go away, he said again, but oh, how weak he sounded then. You're the Devil, he said. And he was being tempted by the Devil, wasn't he? That's who Loki is.
I don't know if anything about that dream was real at all! I probably wasn't even seeing anything that I didn't make up out of my own head-
What a load of shite, her mind said impatiently. Don't lie to yourself, Ginny. At least don't do that. You saw what Draco saw, and you know it.
All right—fine—well, then I saw a dream that Draco had. That's all it was. He knows that we can never be together, just as I do. But he's a man, so if the Devil tempts him by dangling memories of me in front of his nose, he'll want me again—but only for sex. It's hardly shocking news. That's what happened with the Succubus spell, after all. I was naked in his bed and he'd just had his hands all over me, so he gave in to temptation. No more than that. If I'd given in too, then it finally would have happened. We would have- Her thoughts trembled, and she stopped.
Yes, you would have, her mind said slyly. Right then and there, in his bed, if you'd only succumbed, if you'd only said yes, as you so desperately wanted to do. Just think of everything you could have had, Ginny-
Stop changing the subject! The point is, that dream didn't mean a thing.
Oh, didn't it? her mind whispered. Remember what you saw, Ginny. Remember what you heard. Remember how Draco lost all control at the end, when Loki told him that you'd betray him with some other man, that your first time could never be his. Remember his face when Loki said that.
I'd hardly be betraying him! He was the one who left me! He told me he was marrying Astoria, and that he could never come back to me. Then I came to him like a fool on Vendetta Island, and I finally found the strength to leave him… I did… and he let me go. I'm a free agent now. I can choose someone else. I can… of course I can… oh fuck… Ginny remembered Draco's face, all right.
She couldn't keep doing this. She'd let go of Draco Malfoy once and for all because she knew that she could never have him, and finally, he'd let go of her. There was no reason why she shouldn't sleep with someone else now, no reason at all. She should do it, really.
"I can't do it," she whispered with a sort of horror. "I couldn't shag someone else first."
Dean burst through the door, slamming it behind him. His face was furious. "Fuck-all do I care whether you do or not! Tell Daphne Greengrass to stay the hell away from me. She's some sort of friend of yours, isn't she? She'd listen to you, wouldn't she?"
"That's it," moaned Ginny. "I've finally gone mad."
"You can't," said Dean, grabbing her shoulders and looking at her with wild eyes. "You're the only sane one here. Listen, you've got to listen. She kept following me round the gallery and her red lips were bothering me and I found a side door that hadn't been there before and I slipped out of it, and I thought I'd get away from her, but then the corridors began to go all queer—"
"That happened to you, too?" she gasped.
"Yes! Yes." Dean hugged her in relief. "I told you that you weren't mad, Ginny, and I suppose that means that I'm not either. The signs were quite normal at first, but then they all began to say something about a hidden St. Mungo's exhibit that would open for private showings only in November, very exclusive, available to members only. Then the lights dimmed, and when I looked behind me, Daphne was following, yelling something about Malfoys and the hidden ward, and I couldn't shake her, Ginny, I couldn't escape her no matter how fast I ran!" He shuddered convulsively.
He was still holding her, and Ginny closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into his warmth. It steadied her to feel some sort of human contact, to hear a heartbeat and breathing; Dean's solidity brought her back to reality, somehow. Their foreheads touched, and he sighed after a few moments.
"Where the hell are we, Ginny?"
"Someplace…" She hesitated. Dean was her friend, but there had been an awkwardness between them ever since her fifth year. Too many things were left unsaid; she knew that she had used him to get to Harry, she had never forgiven herself for it, and she had never been quite sure what he had felt about it, or what he really thought of her now. She couldn't tell him what she knew about this place, much less what she suspected.
"Someplace very strange," she finished lamely. "I really don't know how we ended up here, but I think we both must have gone through the same side door. Daphne did too, but she disappeared, and I haven't seen her since."
Dean's eyebrows drew together. "Well, how are we supposed to get out?"
"I was hoping that you had a few ideas in that direction," Ginny admitted. "I've tried to go down that corridor loads of times, but it just keeps turning round, and I always end up back here."
"But there are two of us now... I wonder…" Dean frowned. "Maybe there really is a way out. I mean, it's like a hall of mirrors, and the way that you keep ending up back here is only because you're confused by a sort of illusion the whole time. What if I go first, and you keep an eye on me? That way, if you see me coming back towards you, then you can head in the other direction., because you'll know that's the right one."
There was something about that idea that wasn't very good, but Ginny couldn't put her finger on it, and there certainly didn't seem to be any better options at the moment. "All right," she said.
"Keep your eye on me, Ginny," said Dean, and he started walking away.
As soon as he moved away from her, and she no longer felt the warmth of his body or the touch of his hand, Ginny knew exactly what was wrong with the idea. It was too bad, she thought objectively, because it was probably a very good one otherwise. The problem was that this place existed outside of any sort of normal human experience, and so the human mind could not survive intact in it. She'd noticed exactly the same thing the time she'd been in here before by herself, Ginny now realized. She'd got lost and she'd become more and more frantic, more desperate and disoriented. But then she'd seen Draco and Astoria, and her bond with him had been strong enough to protect her from the inhuman effects. She had been with Draco in the dream, too. But now, Dean had disappeared from view, and she was all alone.
I'm about to go completely insane, she thought.
She couldn't stand around waiting for Dean to return. Her only hope was to find him. She began to run down the corridor, gritting her teeth when she saw that all the doorknobs were laughing merrily at her. "Have the common decency to stay where you're put," she snarled at the carpet, and surprisingly enough, it did. The hall opened out into an expanded space, and the walls stretched out before her as she frantically ran towards them. Dean. She saw Dean. He was trying to reach her, too, his hands outstretched, but it was too late; she already knew that it would be too late. She ran into his arms, sobbing with defeat.
"It's too late," she cried, kneeling on the floor.
"Yeah, I think you're right," he sighed.
Ginny looked up at him sadly. "You didn't touch me in time. I've gone mad."
"Do you think so?" he asked thoughtfully.
She cocked her head to one side, considering. "A bit, at least. Nothing seems exactly right. Quite odd things seem entirely reasonable."
"I think I know what you mean," agreed Dean.
"But I'm very glad you're here," said Ginny.
"Oh, so am I," agreed Dean.
"It's awfully nice to have a friend about at a time like this."
"I agree," agreed Dean.
He did look very agreeable, she thought. His skin was such a lovely color, like hot chocolate with loads of real cream in it. Just a bit darker than Blaise Zabini. She yawned.
"I don't know why I'm so tired all of a sudden," she said.
"I don't know, but I am as well. I wish we could lie down for a bit," he said.
"Oh, so do I," said Ginny, swaying where she stood. She was so thoroughly exhausted that she began to slip to the floor, and Dean couldn't catch her in time. Luckily, a bed had appeared below them out of thin air, and Ginny fell into a soft white comforter.
"Mmm," she said drowsily, repositioning herself so that her head was wedged between huge comfortable pillows. "I'm so glad you're here, Dean. You're such a good friend to me. Like one of my brothers."
"Yes, Ginny," she heard Dean sigh, just as she drifted off into sleep. "I'm just like one of your brothers."
Ginny thought she felt him put his arm round her, which was rather odd, she thought, because she couldn't imagine any of her brothers wanting to do that. But she still snuggled against him, because he was warm and comforting, and because in her heart of hearts, she felt a guilt over the way she had treated him that would never leave her. Then she fell asleep.
Draco sat as still as stone, staring straight ahead. The trickster god hovered at his elbow, whispering in his ear, his voice sweeter than the hiss of the snake who tempted Eve to fall in the garden. "It's a one-time only offer, Draco. Good just for tonight. The coupon expires in the morning, and you can never redeem it again." Draco said nothing. "You could think of it as a sort of Incubus spell," Loki said in a wheedling voice. "It's really remarkably similar. The Pureblood Marriage Bond wouldn't apply. Astoria would never know. Ginny couldn't be hurt by it. Doesn't it sound like a good idea?" Silence. "Draco, Draco. If you bring forth what it within you, it will save you. If you do not bring it forth, it will destroy you." Draco continued to stare straight ahead. Loki sat back on his heels. "Damn. If I hadn't invented damnation already, I mean. Even mumbo-jumbo pseudo-mystic philosophy didn't work. Let's see…" He tapped his chin with a forefinger, the unnaturally glossy nail glistening in the faint light. "Oh! I know." He leaned a bit closer. "How about if I tell you what Ginny Weasley was thinking a bit earlier tonight? As a bonus extra, I'll even throw in something she said." Draco's lips compressed into a thin line. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you can resist that." "I don't believe a word you're about to say," he said in a clipped voice. "You're the father of lies, after all." "Well, we'll see about that," said Loki. "She was remembering everything she saw and heard in your dream last night, because she witnessed it, of course—oh, you didn't know that? Some of it seemed to upset her rather a lot. Is anything wrong?" "No. You don't know how to do anything but lie. You're lying now." "Yes yes, your opinion has been duly noted, Draco. Anyway, the part that seemed to bother Ginny in particular was when I speculated on the likelihood of her first full-scale sexual experience occurring with someone other than yourself, which you must admit did rather seem to upset you. I think she nearly cried. But then she overcompensated a bit in the other direction by telling herself that if she fulfilled my gloomy prediction, this would in no way constitute a betrayal of you—which does seem to make sense, seeing as how the two of you haven't exactly hammered out an agreement between yourselves regarding the deflowering of Ginny Weasley. Oh, don't' clench your jaw like that, Draco. You'll give yourself temporo-mandibular joint syndrome. Anyway, the worst part's yet to come, I'm afraid. She then pondered the theory that she really ought to engage in sexual congress with someone else first, as soon as possible, in fact—oh, Draco, don't wrinkle the material!" Loki clucked his tongue and stepped back. Draco was sweating and panting heavily, but whatever contretemps had just occurred had clearly not ended well for him. The Immortal lifted him up from the floor between thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. "Really, cousin, I wish you'd learn to control your youthful impetuosity and not shoot the messenger. Anyway, I'm not done. You haven't heard the last bit, which is what she actually said. But I'm a tad bit miffed with you, so you're going to have to ask me nicely if you want to hear it. Do you?" Draco looked up at Loki, and his face was deadly pale. He nodded minutely. "Let's hear the magic word," said Loki. His mouth worked painfully, and his eyes squeezed shut. "Please." His voice was a broken whisper. Something in him had broken, Ginny realized. Some battle had finally been lost. Loki smiled, as if offering a tremendous treat to a child. "'I can't. I couldn't shag anyone else first.'" He paused. "That's not what I'm saying, of course. That's what Ginny Weasley said. You know, I think she was talking about you." He waited. "Well?" "Take me," said Draco. Loki's smile widened. "I knew you'd see reason, cousin." He held out his hand, and Draco grasped it. The Immortal turned his head then, so that he was no longer looking at Draco. His eyes twinkled, and they met Ginny's. But he wasn't really seeing her. He couldn't be. She was only watching some sort of confused dream that Draco was having; it could have nothing to do with her, not really-
"Oh, can't it?" said Loki. He winked.
Ginny's eyes opened slowly. She was staring right at one of the doors in the corridor, slightly shorter than the rest, with a more elaborate lock and a long golden key. She reached out and touched is, and then cried out in pain. A razor-sharp edge had pricked her finger, and several drops of blood flowed down to stain the pristine white bed. She sucked on her finger, still watching the door. I don't know why. It's not as if anything is going to happen. All of those doors have just stayed locked all along-
It swung open. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway.
"Ahhh," he said, in a one long, slow, intense breath.
He took a step towards her, his face filled with eager hunger, his arms reaching out, and then he stopped, frozen in place.
Ginny couldn't understand for a moment. Then she felt something warm and solid slung across her back, and she looked over at Dean. He was sleeping soundly next to her in the bed, and in the dead silence, he sighed softly and snuggled up more closely to her body so that they were pressed together as closely as any pair of true lovers could possibly have been.