A/N: Thanks to all readers and reviewers!
Draco cleared away the breakfast plate between them and propped himself up on his elbows. He stared into space for such a long time that Ginny finally nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. He winced back a bit too theatrically, in her opinion.
"Well?" she asked.
"I really don't where to begin, Weasley," he said.
"Can't you just start somewhere? Anywhere?"
"Considering the infinite number of starting points to choose from, I'm just not sure where that ought to be."
"Malfoy, maybe there wouldn't be so many millions of things I don't understand if—"
"Let's start with location," he said hurriedly. "All right?" He gave her another smile, and Ginny struggled to remember whatever it was that she'd been about to say. She just knew it had been important.
"The Pureblood Ball is always held at the Crystal Palace," Draco went on. "That's why we'll be drawn there at the correct time."
Of course, he would have to pick one of the few facts she already did know, more or less. Not that she was about to let him know that. "Because it's a soft space?" guessed Ginny.
"Very good, Weasley. Other than that, the setting has varied. I'd always heard that it was in a ballroom at Hampton Court when it had a Tudor theme. But now it's held in a replica of the authentic nineteenth-century Almack's Assembly Rooms… What is it?"
"You told me that back in May," said Ginny without thinking.
"Ah," Draco said softly. "Outside the cottage at Lyme Bay, just before we returned to London. Yes. I remember."
Ginny remembered, too. She wished that she hadn't brought it up. The memory hovered in the air between them now; she was sure of it. She could almost see it. But when she gave Draco a cautious glance, his face hadn't changed. Maybe she was the only one who remembered anything from that time, for all she knew. Maybe he'd succeeded much better than she had done at the task of forgetting everything. She cleared her throat.
"So they built an exact duplicate?" she asked.
"Oh, no."
"Is it some kind of illusion then?
Draco shook his head. "No. If you cast a Disillusionment charm, it certainly wouldn't disappear. I don't pretend to entirely understand it, but I would say that it's real, at least by any definition that could matter for that night."
Ginny's forehead wrinkled. "Could it actually involve some sort of time travel?
"That explanation probably covers it better than anything else I could think of," said Draco. "I certainly don't know how Prudence Temperata manages it—"
"Um… who?" asked Ginny, trying to sound innocent. She knew she'd heard that name before.
"She's the… well… let's just call her the manager of the Crystal Palace. Anyway, I couldn't possibly explain it; I doubt anybody could, but when we step into the Pureblood Ball, we'll actually be in 1814 London in some indefinable way. There was a real place named Almack's Assembly Rooms in Regency England, you see."
"Let me guess," said Ginny. "In 1814, balls were actually held there."
"Your guesses do tend to run accurate this morning, don't they?" Draco gave her a rather tense-looking smile. "So that's where we will be, or maybe I should even say that's where we would have been. If there were some way to trace what actually happened on the night of December 1st, 1814, I suppose you'd find that a wizarding ball was held that night at Almack's."
"So if we went outside the ballroom, we'd literally be in the year 1814."
Draco shrugged. "I suppose we would be, if we were able to find the way. That's why there's such strict adherence to the rules of etiquette from that time period, and believe me, Weasley, the rules were remarkably strict. That's why…" He looked away just slightly. "I really do have no choice but to escort Astoria."
Ginny shook her head. "We've already covered that, Malfoy. I know that you don't want to do it. Are you still expecting me to whip out my wand and start hexing you at random? Trust me, I would do if I thought you actually wanted to take her there."
"I don't," said Draco. "I didn't have any desire to escort her last year, either."
"So you didn't take her the first year?" asked Ginny.
Silence. Too late, she had remembered. She knew exactly who Draco had escorted to the Pureblood Ball when he was eighteen years old.
But he still didn't know that she knew. Fast, I have to talk fast!"Uh… is there anything special about the Regency period? I mean, could it be any other time?" asked Ginny.
"Oh, yes, and it has been. When it was a Tudor Ball, we would have been wandering about mid-16th century London if we left through a side door. And it wouldn't have been very pleasant, what with being stuck in the middle of the sweating sickness."
Was there something wrong about his voice? "So it could work for any time at all?" asked Ginny. There's certainly something wrong with mine. He's got to be able to hear it. No; he can't, I won't believe that he can.
"Yes," said Draco. His voice was casual and unruffled. "If the Committee wanted to hold a Ball set three days before the given date, I suppose they could, although there wouldn't be much point. The costumes wouldn't be particularly interesting."
He hadn't figured out a thing. She was sure of it. Ginny couldn't help sagging slightly in relief, although she was sure that it wasn't a good idea, either.
"Are you all right, Weasley?" he asked softly. "You seem a bit off."
"I think you're right," said Ginny. "This room is starting to get to me." She leaned back against the wall. "You know, it seems like the Pureblood Ball can't really be in the past, no matter what year they're in. Not in any way that counts. I mean… well, you know what I mean. When you get right down to it, Malfoy, isn't it just a bunch of snotty purebloods playing games for an evening?"
"You have a point," said Draco. "But they take their games very seriously. Every detail is scrutinized, from the fold of a cravat to the tilt of a fish fork to the flutter of a lady's fan- ow!"
Ginny had reached over and thumped her fist down on his thigh. She did it again, just for extra emphasis. "Malfoy, what part of 'I can't learn ten million rules in a couple of hours' isn't getting through to you? What are we going to do about that part of it? Have you come up with any brilliant ideas yet?"
"Actually, now that you've asked, I think I have done," said Draco with a satisfied smile and the air of a man unveiling a solution at last.
"What is it?" asked Ginny. She didn't trust that smile a bit.
"I do have a plan, Weasley, and it's a rather good one, in my opinion. I was trying to lead up to it, but since you seem to be unable to refrain from unnecessary violence, I think I'll tell you now—ah, ah!" Draco neatly grabbed her hand as she reached to smack him again.
"I don't like the sound of this at all," said Ginny, snatching her hand back.
"Oh, you'll love it. It's a wonderful plan. One of the best I've ever hatched."
"Considering the track record of your average plan, Malfoy—"
"Hush, Weasley. It covers all the bases. And now that you see how impossible it is for you to master everything you need to know, I'm sure you'll agree that the best solution is to— oof!"
Apparently, thought Ginny, Draco believed that the best solution was to arrange for a feathered missile to fly in her face, because that was exactly what had just happened to him.
"Fuck! Why is everybody attacking me today?" he spluttered. "Off!" He beat at the feathery thing with his hands. It flew backwards and revealed itself as a small periwinkle-colored owl. It peered closely at Draco, made a small, annoyed sound, and flew directly to Ginny, alighting on her wrist.
"Too-whit, to-whoo, Too-whit, to-whoo, have I got exciting news for you!" it trilled.
She narrowed her eyes at Draco. "What's this all about?"
"Ah… I'd say that it seems to be an owl," he said, rather evasively, in her opinion.
The owl bowed to her. "Your talents are charming, your beauty is true. Here is an exceptionally important letter for you."
"What's going on, Malfoy?"
"I'm not at all sure that the committee owls put enough thought behind their poems," said Draco.
"You know something about this, don't you?" The muscle in Ginny's jaw jumped.
"Er…"
The owl spread its wings and flew between them, dazzling sparkles of fairy dust trailing in its wake. Ginny saw that a pendant was fixed to a silver chain around its neck. The owl landed on the tiny round table in front of her and bowed. The pendant opened and blossomed like a faceted flower, unrolling on top of the portfolio. It was a parchment, Ginny realized. The page itself was a light periwinkle-blue colour, and darker blue letters formed themselves into perfect copperplate-writing words as she read them, surrounded by a circular floral design.
The pleasure of Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley's company is to be requested at the 5,078th Annual Pureblood Ball, to be held at the Almack's Assembly Rooms at the Crystal Palace, on the first day of December of this year. Committee: Ladies need not wear tiaras. The Pureblood Ball.
The Princesse de Lieven, The Lady Jersey, The Lady Sefton.
Ginny whirled on Draco.
"What the hell is this?" she demanded.
"Ah… an invitation?"
"You do know something about this, don't you?"
A flash of guilt spread across Draco's face. It was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived, but not quickly enough for Ginny to fail to catch it. "What happened, Malfoy?" she asked sternly.
"Ah… have you whipped up a batch of In vino veritas whilst my back was turned, Weasley?"
"No. You just don't seem to be able to fool me as well as you used to do."
"I was afraid of that," said Draco.
Ginny's eyes narrowed even further. "So it's an invitation, huh? Why didn't you get one?"
"The Malfoys have attended Pureblood Balls since their inception. It's simply assumed that I'll appear, so I don't receive invitation, only an announcement. Ah, Weasley, why don't we—" She felt his hand on the small of her back, gently pushing her in the opposite direction from the table where the invitation lay open. She set her teeth and grimly resisted him.
The little owl hooted softly and tapped the parchment with one claw. Ginny glanced down. There was another line of handwriting.
Escort: Blaise Zabini.
"Blaise is going to be my escort to the Ball?" she asked incredulously. "Why didn't I see that before?"
In answer, the owl pointed one claw towards Draco. He was struggling to replace his wand in its holster at its waist. The other penny dropped.
"You spelled that parchment so I couldn't see Blaise's name. Didn't you, Malfoy?" demanded Ginny. The owl nodded vigorous agreement.
"Er…" Draco seemed to be having a remarkable amount of trouble getting his wand back where it belonged, as far as she could tell.
"You did!" Ginny sagged back against the wall. "But why? It's the perfect solution. I've got to go with somebody, and Blaise could help me with all the rules."
Draco whirled on the owl. "Get out! You've delivered your bloody invitation—out, out, out!"
"Oh, Malfoy, you don't have to be so mean to that poor owl—"
"Yes, I do. I really do." Draco ran a hand over his face. "Weasley, having Blaise Zabini as your escort is a bloody awful solution. My plan, on the other hand, was perfection itself."
"All right! What was it, Malfoy?"
"You wouldn't attend the ball at all. You'd stay in the foyer with the coats all evening," said Draco.
"That's your idea of a plan? You wanted me to hide?"
"It would certainly be safer. Besides, hiding is rather an elegant sort of solution, don't you think?"
"It's an insanely stupid solution, if that's what you mean. Do you really think that Harry wouldn't figure out I was gone? What about all the questions everyone else would ask? And how are you supposed to get away with presenting the sketches all by yourself?"
"It's maybe not the best-thought-out plan I've ever had," admitted Draco. "But it's an improvement over some of the others I had in mind. And if you gave me just a bit more time—"
"There isn't any more time! And it doesn't matter anyway, because the invitation says I have to go with Blaise." Ginny gave Draco the fiercest glare she could manage as he opened his mouth. "And I don't want to hear any more about it, Malfoy. It would solve all our problems."
"Oh, no it wouldn't," muttered Draco.
"Yes! Yes, it would. Number one." Ginny began ticking them off on her fingers. "I'll never ever in a zillion years be able to keep track of one hundredth of one percent of all these rules you say I have to know on my own. And Blaise does know them, right?"
"Yes, but—"
"All right, then. He'll help me. Number two. I do have to have an escort. Blaise is perfect, because he's a pureblood, and he's not you. Right?"
"Yes. But, Weasley—"
"Right," Ginny said triumphantly. "Number three, and this is the best one of all, Malfoy, and I can't believe you didn't think of it yourself. We can use Blaise to make Harry think that I'm interested in him. That way, he'll actually believe that I don't want anything to do with you. It'll be perfect. I'm sure Blaise would agree to help—you know, he'd pretend to be interested in me, and I know Luna would be okay with it. Maybe he could kiss me, or something—"
"No!" said Draco. "No, no, no, no, no, no. Do you hear me? Have I made myself clear? No."
"No?" asked Ginny.
"No."
"Look, I can explain it all to Luna. If I just have a couple of minutes alone with her—"
"He's not with Luna anymore," Draco said grimly. "Therefore, I wouldn't trust him to do anything other than behave as exactly what he is—Blaise Zabini, pansexual shagger of slime molds. If you think I'd allow him to spend a quarter of a second alone with you—"
Ginny's eyes flashed. "I can take care of myself, Malfoy. And wait a minute—how do you know anything about Blaise and Luna? I'd certainly know before you would, and Luna never said a thing." Or maybe she wouldn't have done, Ginny thought guiltily.
"I learned about their relationship status from a remarkably reliable source," Draco said in a clipped voice. "I don't know what Lovegood might have said to you, Weasley, and I don't care about the content of your conversation on the subject in the least."
"Don't you dare start talking that way to me, Malfoy," said Ginny. "Tell me where you heard about this, or I'll go off by myself and the next time you see me will be at the Ball on Blaise's arm!"
"You'd better not!" snarled Draco. "All right. Zach Smith told me! He's a complete arse, but's he's an Immortal, and he can't lie. There. Happy now?"
"Zach Smith? When did he do that?"
"The last time we both saw him, Weasley. I certainly hope you remember it; he herded us into the room in the Crystal Palace ten minutes later."
"Oh," said Ginny feebly. Gods, but did Draco know that she knew something about what he and Zach had said to each other on that day, during their long, strange, silent battle of the minds? She certainly wasn't going to ask him about it now. But even if Draco knew something about that, this was a part she hadn't heard. I wonder what else I don't I know? Of course, if she started down that path-
She realized that she had waited too long to say anything. "So what happened?" she asked hurriedly. "I mean, why did they break up?"
"I don't know," said Draco. "Smith didn't see fit to tell me that much."
"I just don't understand it," said Ginny. "I've never seen Luna so happy,"
"Yes, well, I certainly understand one thing very clearly," said Draco through clenched teeth. "Their relationship actually prevented Blaise Zabini from shagging every sentient being on the planet, which was a sight I thought I'd never witness. Without her, there's nothing left to stop him."
If Draco didn't cooperate, the plan couldn't possibly work. Ginny realized that without being told. Maybe he'd be willing to hear reason, although the look on his face wasn't very encouraging. "Malfoy, listen to me—no, listen; I just know that Blaise wouldn't act that way—"
"Really?" Draco gave a humorless little laugh. "Do you want to hear about the time I caught him trying to seduce grindylows during our fourth year at Hogwarts? Or how about the incident involving a hundred pounds of rubber tubing, a couple of wingback chairs, a set of scuba gear, and the giant squid during the Easter holidays just after his Crystal Palace initiation?"
"Malfoy, you're making that up!"
"All right; so maybe I wasn't precisely present for that occasion, but I'm sure that Marcus Flint was a remarkably reliable witness. The point I'm trying to make—"
"Malfoy, will you stop talking like that!" Reason. She had to keep trying it. At some point, it simply had to work. "Look, if it were anyone else, I'd be able to see it. But Blaise has been your best mate for years," she said desperately. "It's like Luna and me. I'd understand it perfectly if it were the other way round, I'd never act this way if Luna went to the Ball with— I mean, there's no reason to act-"
She stopped just in time. No, she thought. It wasn't in time. She knew exactly how the sentences had to end, and she was sure that he did too. She could feel that she was holding back the flaming color from her face with horrible effort. But she couldn't stop now.
"Blaise has simply got to take me," said Ginny. "You know he does. It's our only option."
Draco was still silent. Well, maybe he'd made some kind of noise under his breath, thought Ginny, although it certainly didn't sound to her as if he was admitting to knowing much of anything. She took a deep breath and plowed on.
"Fine. Have it your way if you must, Malfoy. Blaise is ready to leap on anything with a pulse. But it doesn't matter, because I don't care what he wants from me," she said. "Unless he wants friendship, because he's my friend. I thought he was yours as well. I don't understand why you don't trust him—" She stopped again.
"Don't you? Well—I don't think I understand much of anything, today. It's too much to ask that you would, I suppose." Draco gave a long, tired-sounding sigh and sagged back against the wall.
Ginny tried to examine him, but his face was turned away from her. She tried to convince herself that she was glad.
"All right," said Draco. "Blaise will be your escort. He'll help you maneuver your way through the minefield, and I'll speak to him. He's been my best mate since my father informed him of such when we were both five years old, after all, and he certainly knows very well that if he lays a finger on you I'll take him apart piece by piece."
"Thanks," said Ginny awkwardly. "I think." She cleared her throat. "If he's all over me at the Ball, I suppose that everyone would notice that, and it wouldn't do us any good."
Draco nodded. "You're exactly right, Weasley. If anyone shows blatant attention to you, then all we'd succeed in doing would be to stir up Potter's jealousy in a different direction. We've got to avoid that sort of thing entirely."
Right. Nobody can pay any attention to me at all, basically. Ginny went into a sudden and unexpected coughing fit. How odd.
"Don't choke to death before we even have a chance to get there, Weasley," said Draco. "That won't do at all."
"It sure won't," said Ginny. She moved over to the little table, trying to collect her thoughts. She could feel Draco behind her when she opened the portfolio. Sort of… looming. How does he do that?
"Beautiful," he said softly. One of his long fingers dipped down to trace the figure of the witch on the top parchment, hovering a millimeter above the surface. Ginny caught her breath.
"But…"
"What?"
He couldn't really be standing as close to her as all that, could he? "How exactly is this going to work?" she asked. "I mean, what do we do? How do we present the sketches? Are there rules about that?"
"Ah…"
"Is Blaise going to know about those?"
"Well, not exactly-" Draco quickly moved away. "Weasley, please don't start the mindless violence up again. You can hardly blame me for not knowing several weeks ago that we'd need to present the sketches at the Ball."
"No, I guess I can't, but—" Ginny stopped. "Wait," she said slowly. "Wait just a minute."
"We can't," said Draco. "We've got far too much planning to do. I think we'd better start discussing what to do once Gaylord Humperdinck shows up."
"That's it." And she was right; she knew it immediately. She could see him continuing to back away.
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Draco.
"Oh, yes, you do! I can't believe I didn't think of this before. Well, no, I tried to, but I couldn't… You distracted me or tricked me or something, I just know you did, and I'm going to figure out how you did it!" But she already knew how, she thought dismally. He hadn't let her think straight for so much as two seconds at a time, and she'd fallen for it. I can't blame anyone but myself. Oh, yes I can! I absolutely can. It's all Malfoy's fault, and I won't let him get away with it. He's not charming his way out of this one.
"Weasley, I really have no idea what you mean, but you're starting to make me a bit nervous. I think that this room really is beginning to have its effect on you, and it's not at all a good one. Why don't you just sit down and relax for a bit, and then we'll—"
She shook off his hand on her arm, her eyes blazing. "Malfoy, we should have gone over all of this weeks ago! And we could have done, too. Then I would've known something about those ten million official pureblood rules; you wouldn't even have to worry about Blaise, and I wouldn't be a couple of hours away from making a total fool of myself in front of every pureblood in the wizarding world! Isn't that true?"
"Er—"
Ginny stabbed a finger into his chest. "Isn't it?"
Draco spread his hands wide in what he undoubtedly thought was a very appealing gesture, she was sure. "Really, Weasley, there's no need for this at all. We can discuss this entire issue like calm, rational, sensible people- ow!"
He looked down. She had whipped her wand out of its holster and had pointed it at a rather lower part of him than she'd intended. Maybe that horrorstricken look on his face really was justified, she thought guiltily.
Draco reached down and pushed her wand tip up, very carefully. "Weasley, you truly give new meaning to the concept of, er, hitting below the belt. Would you very much mind letting me explain?"
"This had better be good, Malfoy," said Ginny, shoving her wand back where it belonged.
"It is," said Draco, sliding his own hand back. Much too slowly, in her opinion.
"So what is it?" asked Ginny, her voice sounding much less aggressive than she'd wanted it to.
He still hadn't moved his fingers entirely away from hers. Part of her wished that he would, because the continued contact made it so difficult for her to think straight.
"Because I didn't want you to be there," Draco finally said.
"What?"
"You heard me, Weasley."
"You were trying to keep me from going to the ball?" Ginny asked incredulously.
Draco shook his head. "I wouldn't exactly say that. Let's just say that there came a point when I knew it would be so much safer for you to avoid it, so that I rather wished you could. I ought to have known better where you were concerned, of course. You're a walking danger magnet if there ever was one."
Ginny tried to snatch her hand back. The attempt didn't get very far. "So it was more than just some stupid plan to shove me into the cloakroom and cover me with coats. Malfoy, I should've known."
Were the tips of his fingers actually tightening around hers? Yes. She really thought that they were. He smiled at her unrepentantly. "Oh, I had quite a number of plans; it's just that none of them ever got very far. I rather liked the one that involved using the Cambio charm to change you into Pansy Parkinson for the night. The problem is that I rather imagine she'll be there, and considering the sort of terms we were on the last time we parted, I don't think she's as likely to cooperate with our plans for the evening as Blaise will do. "
"My brother Bill showed me an awfully similar charm once," said Ginny, her voice poisonously sweet. "It's called the Scimbare spell. He used to use it on Romanian werewolves in order to turn them into frogs."
"Oh?" asked Draco. He was beginning to look rather alarmed, she saw with some satisfaction.
"Oh, yes. He said it made them much easier to deal with. But you know how Bill's spells always seem to work out, Malfoy. I might not be able to change you back."
"Er…. Perhaps with a kiss? I've heard that's quite effective."
Ginny shook her head.
"Are you sure?" He gave her an appealing look, the tips of his fingers brushing hers. "The spell must wear off very quickly indeed once the kiss starts, you know."
"Oh, I might not mind kissing a frog, Malfoy," said Ginny. "But not if I knew it was you."
He gulped, and his fingers dropped away from hers. Her hand suddenly felt very cold. "Weasley, do you suppose there's any chance that you really could just drop it? You're certainly going now, because we've got no choice at all. The sort of preparation we've got to do is absolutely bloody impossible. You can blame every bit of this disaster in the making on me, if you like. See how reasonable I'm being?"
"Will you just tell me why?" asked Ginny. "Why didn't you tell me anything earlier, when you could've done? Not that I actually expect you to explain, because it's not like you ever bother to tell me why you do anything, Malfoy, but—"
He put his hands on her shoulders, very lightly. "Weren't you listening to me thirty seconds ago, Weasley?"
His touch felt as if it were burning through her light shirt, right into her skin, down to her bones. "When?" she snapped. "You mean when you were telling me about Pansy Parkinson? Am I going to get a list of all your other ex-girlfriends who will be at the Ball? Didn't you say we only had a couple of hours to go over everything? I would've thought you'd need a week to go over that information alone."
Draco's eyes remained steady on hers. "You'd be safer if you didn't set foot in the Crystal Palace tonight at all, Weasley."
A shiver ran up her spine. "What do you mean, Malfoy?"
"I don't know. But…" He compressed his lips into a thin line. The action made all the lines of his face turn sharper and harsher for a few moments. But no less handsome, Ginny realized. He only looked a bit more like the dark, frightening Draco she had so briefly glimpsed so many times by now, and had managed to forget each time.
"But you wouldn't tell me if you did," she said.
His lips relaxed into a smile. "But I swore once I'd protect you," he said. "And I still will." He sat in a little chair that had somehow materialized next to the round table and patted the seat of the one next to it.
"Come on, Mistress Cinderella Weasley," he said. "I think we've got a bit of work to do before your pumpkin appears."
It was the best she was going to get, Ginny realized as she looked at Draco's smooth face and mirrorlike eyes.
For now, she thought grimly. Just for now. Two can play at this game.
"So are you the fairy godmother, Malfoy?" she asked, sitting down in the other chair. "Or one of the wicked stepsisters? I already know you're not Prince Charming, so don't even bother trying to palm that one off on me."
He grinned at her, showing a glimmer of sharp teeth. "Oh, no, Weasley. I'm the one who tells the tale. I left it a little late, but there's no time like the present, don't you think?"
"All I can say is that this had better be good, Malfoy," muttered Ginny.
"Oh, it will be," said Draco, his voice suddenly, unexpectedly serious. "Weasley, I promise that it'll be the very best I can do."