A/N: Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially tryntee13!
Quadrille, thought Ginny, struggling to remember exactly what had happened in Madam Terpis's Dance Class for the Wee back in Ottery St. Catchpole. There'd been an unfortunate incident involving a fistfight between her and a nasty little boy who lived just down the lane from the Burrow, which was probably why she didn't quite care to remember…. Oh, shite.
"Blaise, tell me there aren't really four couples who dance in a sort of circle," she said.
"There are," he said. "Or there would be, if we were going to dance. Think of something, Gin, quick. Can we pretend we simultaneously sprained our ankles?"
"We'd never get away with it," she said regretfully. "If we'd fallen to the floor before the music started, maybe, but it's too late now."
"I see your point, Gin. Poisoned by the champagne, then?"
"We'd already be dead. So would everybody else."
"Couldn't we act as if a clumsy violinist in the orchestra dropped his instrument on our heads from the balcony?" Blaise asked hopefully. "If we both look up at exactly the same moment, it just might work. I believe the violin section is right over there…"
Ginny glanced up, her eyes irresistibly drawn to the spot of darkness above the bright ballroom. She knew that the wooden balustrade where she and Draco had stood was there; she could almost see the missing space where he had torn off one of those elaborately carved decoration, even though she couldn't see it all. But he wasn't there, of course, because—
She blinked. Someone was slipping away from the spot and hurrying down the stairs. The light was so dim that she couldn't yet tell who it was. She pulled at Blaise's arm. "Look," she whispered.
"What? I've almost worked out the plan, Gin. I think if we edge just a bit closer to the balcony, it'll work. We'll have to avoid Kitty and Vanessa, of course. I can already see them headed our way," said Blaise.
"Over there!" Ginny tried to point as discreetly as she could. "Now they're gone. Blaise, I saw someone coming down the stairs. I'm sure I did."
Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Do you think it could have been…?"
Ginny leaned closer. "I don't think it could possibly be Malfoy," she whispered. "That's what I thought at first too, of course. But whoever it is looks much too short, so I can't imagine who would be—"
"Blaise!" said Pansy in a loud, artificial voice. "I haven't seen you in ages."
"Ah…" Blaise turned and gave her a dubious look. "I can only say the same, Pans."
"Well, you might go so far as to say you're actually glad to see me, but I suppose we'll have to leave it at that," Pansy went on. "And what a pleasant surprise to see Ginny Weasley here. I must say, I never expected that!"
Ginny's lips tightened. "Would you mind telling us exactly what you want, Parkinson?"
"You're not in a very welcoming mood, are you?" asked Pansy. "I thought I'd come over to greet old friends; that's all. What a lovely gown, Weasley. Such pretty lace trim." She leaned forward, apparently for a closer examination.
What the hell is this? wondered Ginny.
Pansy stumbled and nearly fell. Instinctively, Ginny put out a hand to stop her, sighing inwardly. All those years Mum spent trying to drill good manners into my head really didn't go to waste after all, I suppose. Pity they'll all going to benefit Pansy Parkinson.
"Daphne wants you to meet her up in the balcony in ten minutes," whispered Pansy when their heads were almost touching.
"What are you playing at, Parkinson?"
"I'm trying to help you. You might thank me."
"Why?" Ginny whispered. "You told me that balcony was the most dangerous place to be—remember? So what were you doing up there? And how do I know Daphne's up there?" And I'm not so sure if I even trust Daphne anymore, she thought but did not say.
"A… someone… a person delivered several marble blocks and loads of modeling clay for the sculptures to the Ministry a few days ago," said Pansy. "Your brother Percy saw him and talked to him, and told him what sort of trouble you're in now. That person is the one who convinced me to help you. Now will you go?"
"If you won't even tell me who it was, I'm not going anywhere," Ginny said flatly.
Pansy hesitated for a moment. Then she leaned so close that Ginny could see the golden flecks in her dark eyes. She spoke very rapidly.
"He's Michael Corner," she said in such in a low voice that Ginny could barely hear her. "He's my… we've been together for almost a year and a half. My parents don't know anything about it. They'd never forgive me if they knew; they would never accept him, because he's not a pureblood. But they'll have to know someday, because…" She waited just long enough so that Ginny could hear the lilt of the music, the subdued chatter of the crowd, the lightly rhythmic stepping of their own feet. "Anyway, don't think I'm jealous, or anything stupid like that," Pansy finally said. "But… there's something about you, Ginny Weasley. Your boyfriends never seem to forget you. So as soon as your brother told him what you were up against tonight, he asked me to do anything I could to help you. And I promised I would."
"Thank you," said Ginny, understanding at last. Then she took Pansy's hand, and she helped the other girl up.
"Get that look off your face, Blaise," she heard Pansy say as she appraised the ballroom carefully, trying to figure out how best to make her way up to the balcony without being too conspicuous. Pity George isn't here with one of his Dungbombs. That would really distract everyone's attention.
"Just what the hell is going on, Pansy? And what's she doing over here?" Blaise hissed, shooting a sort of pained death glare at Luna. She looked away quickly.
That's strange, thought Ginny. I wonder-
Sharp fingernails nipped at her arm, drawing her into an unexpected group huddle. Ginny realized immediately that she knew everyone in it very, very well. She found herself squashed next to Marcus Flint, who was staring resolutely into space. Ginny thought it was very similar to the way that Arthur Weasley had always looked when the twins were involved in some sort of mischief that he really didn't want to know about, because that would oblige him to tell their mother. Across the circle, Dean looked at her soberly and mouthed something she couldn't catch. Be careful? She wondered. No. Much too long for that. Maybe it was just what the hell do you think you're doing, Ginny? Millicent Bulstrode shot her a toothy grin and waved. Somewhere right around the periphery, the tiny man who had reminded her so much of Professor Flitwick's grandfather was drifting about and contentedly eating from a plateful of sandwiches, each of which looked larger than his head.
"Here's what we're going to do," whispered Pansy. "And I'll be quick; we haven't much time. I'll persuade Kitty and Vanessa to come over here and form an eighth for the Quadrille, not that they'll need much persuading."
"Of course I've never been much good at maths," said Luna. "But I think that would make nine."
"That's the idea," said Pansy impatiently. "Blaise, you're going to partner Kitty, and I want you to pay special attention to her. I know what you're going to say, and I don't care. You've got to do it. Vanessa will watch the entire thing, and she'll just about burst from jealousy. And I happen to know that both of their partners have already made their escape into the smoking room, so it's sure to work."
"And would you mind informing us all what the point of this perfect horror might be, Pansy?" Blaise asked through clenched teeth.
"It's simple, Blaise. We're creating a distraction." Pansy flicked a glance over at Ginny. "Weasley, you'd better go. We'll start as quickly as we can. There's a fairly safe space for you and Daphne to stand while you talk; it's at the far end of the balcony, all the way to the left of the orchestra. That part of the Almack's illusion is the only one that borders on the soft places. I doubt anybody will notice you. But don't go too far." Her long fingers slipped into her reticule and pressed something into Ginny's hand. "Put this on your headdress, right behind your ear."
Ginny glanced at the tiny black pearl. "What's it for?"
"It's imbued with a Sonorus charm. Keep an eye on me, and if I glance up and tap my ear, that means that I'm about to activate it, because there's something I need you and Daphne to hear. I won't do it unless I think it's worth the risk, though, because it could attract attention. But I can think of some situations where it might be…" She seemed to think for a moment. Then she leaned over to touch Dean's arm.
"Shacklebolt's some sort of cousin to you, isn't he?"
Dean looked startled. "How did you know that, Parkinson?"
She shrugged. "I'm not such a fool as most purebloods are, Thomas—or should I say Touton? I always knew you weren't Muggleborn."
He looked at her narrowly. "You do know how to keep your eyes and ears open, don't you?"
"Yes, yes," said Pansy. "Just listen to me, all right? As soon as the dance ends, could you go over and greet him? You might be able to learn something about what's going on."
Dean nodded. It seemed to Ginny that a sort of grudging respect entered his eyes.
"Weasley, look for the signal right around that time. I want you to hear whatever Dean manages to find out," Pansy said to Ginny.
"So do I." Ginny fixed the little pearl onto a loop of larger ones wound into her hair. "By the way, Parkinson, will you be able to talk to me through the charm? I mean, will I actually be able to hear you, and can you hear me?"
"Yes to both," said Pansy, "although I'd really rather avoid all of that. The less involved the charm becomes, the less chance there is of anyone noticing what we're doing."
"I've already figured that part out. But we've got the option if we have to do it, right?"
"I hope it doesn't come to that," said Pansy.
"You're not the only one," said Ginny. She began slipping around the wall, moving towards the stairs.
"Oh, and Weasley?"
"Yes?"
"Good luck."
She smiled. "Thanks. And call me Ginny, why don't you?"
"I suppose I could do, if you promise to never call me Parkinson again. I'll never be able to forget Professor McGonagall using my surname in that pinched tone of voice she had right before telling me that I'd got another T for Troll on some essay or other." Pansy flashed her the quick grin that Ginny remembered so well from Hogwarts, the one that had certainly never been turned on her before. "Be careful… Ginny."
"I'll do my best, Pansy. But I can't promise anything."
The grin became crooked. "Ah, once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor."
Ginny couldn't resist glancing back just once as she edged around the walls. Blaise was resolutely talking to Kitty Pucey, who was apparently about to melt into a giggling puddle at any moment. If her sister's looks could kill, however, she would definitely be leaving on a stretcher. Other heads were starting to turn in their direction as well, she could see. She moved even faster and made it all the way to the other side of the room just as the orchestra struck up a bright, lilting tune. With a sigh of relief, she started up the stairs.
I really don't think anyone noticed me. Pansy seemed to make it, too… but Malfoy, what about him? What happened to him? A new thought struck her. Maybe he hadn't even stayed downstairs at all. It wasn't nearly as difficult as she'd thought it would be to get back up without being really seen, so it seemed very possible that he'd simply done that. It would explain why I never saw him again.
She stood on the top landing, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness for a few moments. Something brushed past her cheek like a hint of a breeze, but when she reached up, she felt nothing. As soon as she could see anything, she followed the wooden banister. There didn't seem to be a solid wall or any other sort of end to it, so she stopped as soon as she was fairly sure that she was out of earshot of the orchestra. She could still see shapes on the balcony in the dim light to the right, but that was all. I wonder what's really to the left? Oh, I probably shouldn't look… but I wonder if it's the same as when we in the corridors…
She could see the rich, velvety darkness out of the corner of one eye. Before she even realized what she was doing, she had already turned to look into it.
Yes. It was a lush darkness, like the one she had seen when she opened her eyes in the middle of the night sometimes and stared up at the ceiling during those long nights she lay next to Draco Malfoy on a soft mattress laid on the stone floor. They had been moving towards tonight; she'd always understood that. But she hadn't understood that she'd miss that time alone with him.
She didn't take advantage of it until the very end, she thought, taking another step towards the darkness. It had all been too strange and awkward at the beginning; he hadn't wanted her there, or at least that's what he'd said. He'd gone to those rooms to escape Astoria and Ginny herself as well, and then they'd ended up having only a few days together because of what the sixteen-year-old portrait Draco had done. The time-spell…. Lost time…. But he'd been sorry. He'd been tricked into it. By…
long, pale, stringy hair, dead-white skin, the mask grinning at her, the skeletal hands reaching down to stroke her bound body as she lay shivering on the floor of the Chamber
No. No. That was only a dream. It had nothing to do with waking life. Ginny leaned against the banister, feeling her heart hammer.
"What the hell's happening?" she whispered aloud.
"Ginny?" a soft voice asked.
She jerked her head up.
"Uh… yes?"
"It's Daphne." Her long, pale face with the generous pink mouth rose out of the darkness to her right. "What are you doing over there? It's not safe."
Ginny stepped away. "Why?
"The end of the balcony…" Daphne made a vague motion with her hand. "It's much too close to the soft places. Take my word for it. Are you sure you're all right?"
"I… um… I'm fine." Ginny walked into the dim light, rubbing her temples. The strange, disconnected thoughts were already fading.
Daphne was twisting her fingers together, Ginny saw, although her face still looked calm. "Pansy passed on the message, then?"
"I'd hardly be here if she didn't."
"Good. Ah… I'm sorry I couldn't meet you before. It was a little difficult… the timing had to be just right. I got away from Humperdinck by saying that I didn't feel well and I had to go to the loo; I don't think he expects me back anytime all that soon—"
Ginny turned partially away, holding onto the balustrade. She could feel the uneven space where Draco had broken off a piece of the ornately carved decoration earlier. She blinked back tears. "Daphne, what are you doing with him?"
"Are you saying that you don't trust me?"
"I didn't say that—"
"But it's what you thought. Isn't it?"
Ginny couldn't answer. She felt a hand on her arm, turning her round, and Daphne faced her, dark eyes glittering.
"You'd better listen to me, Ginny Weasley. I've done more than you than you'll ever know for the sake of—well, all right, it's hardly all been for your sake, I won't pretend it has been; but it's benefited you. I deserve better thanks than that."
"I know you have! Thanks. I appreciate it. But—"
Daphne shook her head violently. Her long, dark hair was beginning to come loose. "Oh, you don't know. You have no idea. I could've been helping my sister ensnare Draco Malfoy in her web all along; I could've told you to simply go straight to hell, or better yet, never have spoken to you at all, and instead—"
"I know what you did instead! You came to the Pureblood Ball with Humperdinck, who's spying for Harry—that's what you did!"
In the silence that followed, Ginny devoutly hoped that the space where they stood really was safe. Soundproof, too. Otherwise, it was far from impossible that the entire ballroom had just heard every word she'd said.
"I don't know if he's spying for Harry, but I do know that he might be," Daphne finally said. "Why else do you think I'm here with him? I'm trying to control the situation, and there's no other way to do it. And if you'd let me explain before screeching at me like some sort of banshee, you would've found that out."
"I'm listening now," Ginny said stiffly.
Daphne leaned against the balustrade. "Humperdinck needed a female partner for the Ball. He's queer, of course, and everyone knows it perfectly well, but showing it openly is quite another story. He's a family friend of sorts; he's in my mother's Snap-Rook club, and he's done interior decorating for all of her friends. So I persuaded my mother to allow me to play the role. She's over the moon about it—she's sure it means that I'm 'beginning to live up my obligations at last', as she puts it. That's how it happened."
"Right." Ginny watched Daphne narrowly.
"So then I controlled the situation as best I could. I kept him out of the Ball until as late as possible to give everyone a chance to calm down first, and then I put on a good show. Remember that?"
"Yes." Well, that much certainly was true, Ginny thought grudgingly.
"Then I was able to watch and listen to him the entire time, so I'd be able to report back on anything he said. There wasn't a single interesting thing, by the way. Although I can tell you that he's spent a great deal of time studying Draco's trousers at the Ministry. He admires the material, apparently," Daphne went on.
Ginny stifled a snort. "I'll just bet he does. Anything else?"
Daphne stared out over the balcony. "I'd never actually met Humperdinck, you know. He wasn't at all what I expected, and I must admit, I have a hard time believing that he's reporting all of this back to Potter. He hasn't said a single word about him all evening long."
Ginny looked at her profile, the mouth compressed tightly, the dark eyes seeming to hold secrets. Can I trust her? I've got to. It all makes sense. There's no reason why she'd lie about this. And I was so sure she was my friend. Oh, Daphne…
"If I hadn't done all of this, then he would've come here with someone else, somebody outside of our control," said Daphne. "All right, maybe this isn't perfect, but it's the best I could do. You still want things to be simple, don't you, Ginny? But they're not."
'I know they're not," Ginny sighed. She kept tracing the ragged place in the balustrade, looking down at the circling couples below, trying to keep an eye on Pansy. "My dad rigged up an illegal Muggle television in the garage, you know," she said. "I watched a BBC version of Pride and Prejudice once. I remember Colin Firth in tight breeches more clearly than anything else, but they've captured the Regency at this ball; I'm pretty sure of that. But it's the strangest thing, Daphne. It reminds me of the Yule Ball. Do you know what I mean?"
"I think so," said Daphne. "It's not really the world of one particular time that they're trying to capture, you know. If they were, then they would always have stayed in the early nineteenth century, and the theme would always have been Regency. But they've had Victorian balls, and Tudor balls, and Restoration balls. There was a Roaring 1920's theme at least twice, and once they even created an imaginary ball on the Titanic, as it would have been held if the ship had sailed into the harbor instead of sinking in the North Atlantic. You see what I mean, don't you? What they really want is the wizarding world before the war."
"Right," Ginny said softly. "It's what we were, Daphne. It's what we can never be again." She looked down again, remembering the lines of boys and girls twirling and embracing under the endless fairy lights in the Hogwarts that had once been. "I'm surprised they bother to go this far back in time, really."
"There's no need. But the upper-crust purebloods would prefer to avoid dealing with any sort of reality," said Daphne. "What better way to do it than to get as far away from the present as they can?"
Ginny tapped the balustrade. "That's why they need to hold the Ball in the Crystal Palace, isn't it?"
Daphne nodded. "The committee could never manage to hold such a large space suspended in the past for hours on end anywhere but here.
The Crystal Palace is a house on the borderlands, Ginny."
"And we're in it," Ginny said in a low voice. "It's dangerous. I know that now. I'm just not sure exactly how..." The look on Astoria's face; the fact that Daphne was here with Humperdinck; the way that he'd turned out to be so different from what they'd all expected. Daphne was her friend, or at least that's what she'd thought; and she really couldn't believe that she'd been wrong. Her explanation did make sense. She didn't feel that she was lying now. No, not exactly, but something's not quite right… of course, nothing feels right tonight, how could it? Ginny could almost feel it all- a thousand puzzle pieces at her fingertips her nerves itching to fit them together, the maddening feeling that she should be able to do it, the frustrating knowledge that she still couldn't quite manage it yet. She still didn't have everything she needed.
"You're right, Ginny. I'd tell you exactly where the danger was tonight, if I could. But I can't, because I don't know. I wish I did. I can make a few guesses, though." Daphne was staring down at the dancers far below them. "You know, my family's never really been able to pull off this sort of thing, Ginny. We've never quite been in this circle, although my parents have certainly tried. Astoria has come the closest, I suppose. But Draco Malfoy is right in the centre. He always has been. He was born there."
"That's how he's always lived, too," said Ginny, realizing that Daphne was trying to tell her something. "I can see that now. When I knew him at Hogwarts—well, not that I really knew him then; I only knew that Harry hated him—I didn't understand that he was outside of his element completely. This sort of thing was his world. Is his world."
"Yes," said Daphne.
"It's all about artifice, isn't it?" Ginny stared down at the ballroom full of bright couples, all moving in the intricate figures of the dance.
"Except the parts that aren't," said Daphne. "Ginny, be careful."
Her earlier thoughts returned to her, whispering and plucking at her mind. She had never understood before, Ginny realized. Not really. She had known that the Malfoys were among the oldest pureblood families. She had known that they had vast holdings, that nobody really knew how rich they were in land and investments and securities, or how much ready money they had. She'd certainly gotten some idea of that when Draco had offered her anything she wanted if she would become the official Malfoy mistress, dangling jewels and yachts and Rembrandts in front of her undazzled eyes. But none of it had ever seemed real. She knew that now. She looked down at men in a flawlessly cut black tailcoats and knee breeches and ridiculous frothy cravats tied at their necks, accepting glasses of champagne with faint smiles on their faces, and she understood for the first time that Draco Malfoy belonged here, utterly and completely, and that she herself did not. Never would. Never could. She was not sorry, either.
"Oh, I am careful, Daphne," said Ginny. "I've got to be."
"I want to tell you something important," said Daphne.
Ginny continued to stare out over the balcony, trying to keep her gaze focused on the jewels winking in Pansy's dark hair and the sapphires in Luna's flying pale curls. "Is this based on one of your psychic predictions?"
"No. It's only my own thoughts. But…" Daphne hesitated. "You can tell me to go to hell if you like, you know."
"I'll keep that in mind. Could you just tell me whatever it is?"
"I think you'd be better off in many ways if you could let go of Draco Malfoy. Move on with your own life, Ginny."
She smiled slightly without turning her head. "You know what the funny thing is, Daphne? I agree with you."
