A/N: Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially tryntee13. I made some edits in this chapter, so if you remember reading it on FIA, there are some changes. Enjoy!

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I am seeking for the bridge which leans from the visible to the invisible through reality.

- Max Beckmann

"I won't do it, you know," said Ginny, still not looking at Daphne. "Let go of Draco Malfoy, I mean."

Daphne did not quite look at her, either. "Really? You don't think so?"

"I don't know what I think anymore," said Ginny. "But I know what I can do, and what I can't."

"Ginny…" Daphne hesitated. "You can certainly ignore this question if you like, and you're free to call me a nosy bitch as well. I'd prefer it if you didn't push me off the balcony, though. It was difficult enough to get this coiffure back into place as it was. Is this about your… your feelings for him?"

Ginny wondered seriously for a moment if all former Slytherins were completely obsessed with their hair at all times. She had a horrible urge to laugh. "Daphne, I really don't know the first thing I feel when it comes to Malfoy. What I mean is that…" She hesitated even longer than Daphne had. How much could it possibly be safe to say here? Did she herself even know the full truth? "I have a responsibility to do what I can. I know what Harry would love to do if he could get hold of him right now, and I can't let that happen. Not if there's anything at all I can do to stop it."

"He really could do it, then?" Daphne asked quietly.

She knows what I'm talking about, thought Ginny. Of course, she would, more or less anyway. She was down in St. Mungo's with me only a couple of months ago, after all.

"I know Harry through and through, better than anyone else possibly ever could, and that's why I know that he's convinced that he's right," said Ginny. "That's why nothing can change his mind about Malfoy. Or at least if anything ever did, it's beyond what I can imagine. Harry isn't good at admitting he's wrong, let's just say."

"Actually, that's not what I meant," said Daphne. "I mean that I wonder if there's anything or anyone that could stop Potter now."

"I've got to believe there is," said Ginny.

"But when then?"

Ginny shook her head. "I can't think about that now."

"I suppose you're right," said Daphne. "We've got more than enough on our plates tonight as it is."

They both stared down at the ballroom floor for a little while longer. Ginny tried to pick out Astoria from the moving figures; once she thought she saw the bright, puffed yellow dress, but she was wrong. I wonder if I should ask Daphne about her? Does she know anything new, or has she seen anything, maybe? But surely she would've already said something, if there was anything to tell… I can't believe she wouldn't…

The music came to an end, and the dancers bowed to one another. Something crackled painfully in Ginny's ear. "Can you hear me?" she heard Pansy's voice hiss.

"Yes, yes I can," she whispered back.

"What is it?" asked Daphne.

"Pansy put a bug in my ear. I forgot to tell you before—she asked Dean to talk to the Minister. I guess they're going to try it now." Ginny gestured for Daphne to come closer.

Daphne's eyes widened. "It's risky, isn't it? Shacklebolt might easily figure out something's up."

"Yes, he might, but as I don't see an abundance of options at the moment, I think we'd better try it anyway," came Pansy's rather testy voice. "Now be quiet and listen, can't you?"

"Showing that Parkinson charm again, I see," muttered Daphne. "I can hardly tell one person from another down there. It's past time to renew those anti-myopia charms."

"Telescopis," whispered Ginny.

Ginny was able to pick out Dean easily now, and she could tell the moment when Daphne did the same thing. She heard the other girl's little caught breath, and she saw the look of longing that she was able to rapidly hide. I'm getting the rest of that story out of her later, thought Ginny. Together, they focused on Dean as he strolled casually toward Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"What exactly is going on with Shacklebolt anyway?" asked Daphne in her other ear. "Pansy hinted at something involving you and Draco, but that was all. We didn't have much time."

Ginny squirmed. It was bad enough for this to have happened once, but to have to explain it over and over again to everyone else…

"Um… he came across me and Draco up in the balcony before the quadrille."

"Oh, Ginny."

"We weren't doing anything. We were just sort of… standing there."

Daphne didn't say another word, but the silence, thought Ginny, said it all.

Ginny turned back to the floor, her cheeks blazing. Dean had reached the Minister now, but he was surrounded by several people. She noticed uneasily that Humperdinck was one of them. It was clearly going to take a couple of minutes for Dean to get his chance to speak. She shifted her attention to the group near Pansy.

"I do so hope you'll be able to visit us this winter in town, Blaise," Kitty Pucey was saying.

"Oh. Er… yes. I'll see what I can do," Blaise said vaguely.

"Blaise Zabini! Are you listening to me?"

"Winter. Town. Visit. Of course I am, Kitty."

"That'll be a dreadful bore," said Vanessa, pressing up against his other side. "Why don't you come visit me at Monte Carlo?"

"Mm?" Blaise looked past her.

"Blaise Zabini! Aren't you listening to me?"

"You. Monte Carlo. Visit. Of course I am, Vanessa."

He was listening, thought Ginny. The problem was that he kept shooting glances of utter misery at Luna, who was standing next to Pansy, and both sisters were noticing them. Something about those glances struck a chord in Ginny's memory. Harry sometimes looked that way when he wanted me to feel sorry for him. It backfired, because it always made me want to smack him. I wonder if Luna will? But Luna avoided Blaise's eyes instead, which was the only thing to do, Ginny knew. If anyone else notices this… oh, it would not be good.

She stole a glance at Daphne. She certainly didn't seem to notice anyone on the entire ballroom floor except for Dean Thomas.

The others surrounding Shacklebolt had melted away, and a darkly beautiful woman who Ginny assumed was his wife was leaving with a small group. Humperdinck seemed to be still hovering somewhere in the background, Ginny saw. Dean stepped forward and bowed.

"Bonjou, kouzen," said Kingsley to Dean.

" pou wè ou," said Dean.

"E ou menm tou."

"Mwen se…"

Shacklebolt seemed to think for a moment. Then he beckoned Dean to come forward a bit more, and the two of them put their heads together. The sound turned itself down as abruptly as a dial on the Wizarding Wireless. Ginny strained her ears, but could only hear what sounded like mosquitos buzzing. No…. wait! Harry; I'm sure they just said Harry's name. But was it Dean who said it, or Kingsley?

Then the two men broke apart again.

"Non," Kingsley said in a normal tone of voice, rather curtly. "Natirèlman pa." (1)

Dean nodded his head. He was starting to look a bit panicky.
"It's curious that you'd be so interested in Harry Potter's whereabouts tonight," said Shacklebolt, his voice silky. "I wonder if you have a reason?"

"No. I don't have any particular reason."

"When I know, you'll know."

"Of course," said Dean. "Thank you."

The Minister looked at him appraisingly. "But still, I wonder…"

"He knows something's wrong," whispered Pansy's crackly voice into Ginny's ear. "This isn't good. It isn't good at all."

"Yes, I think we really could have figured that point out on our own, Pansy!" said Daphne. "I'm coming down there right now."

"No, you're not! That's the worst thing you could do, as you ought to know. We've got to create a distraction or something along those lines; I just don't know what. There's got to be something—"

A resounding slap echoed all the way up to the balcony. Ginny winced. She hadn't needed the ear bug to hear that.

"Why, you—you—" Kitty advanced on Blaise, her hand raised. He backed away.

"Kitty, why don't you calm down just a bit?" he said in wheedling tones. He gave her his best smile. The effect was marred slightly by the fact that a red handprint decorated his face, thought Ginny.

"I won't calm down," she snarled. "You perfect cad."

"Watch out, now, Kitty; I have the feeling you're right on the verge of saying something very unladylike indeed! I'm sure we can work this out—"

"Oh, how can you say such a thing! I saw what you sent to her; don't think I didn't." Kitty stabbed an accusing finger at Luna.

"What's she talking about?" Ginny whispered to Daphne. "I can't see a thing."

"I don't know yet," Daphne whispered back. "Shh."

Blaise gulped visibly. "Er, I don't know what you mean, Kit. Can't we put this foolishness behind us, and then—"

Luna turned her hand, and Ginny saw a bottle-green colored glint. "I love butterflies, don't you?" she asked of no-one in particular.

"There! There!" shrieked Kitty. "I did see it. There's the proof. You were trifling with my affections all along, Blaise Zabini!"

"No, mine!" screeched Vanessa, trying to push her sister aside. "He was trifling with mine."

"Hmmph," sniffed Kitty. "I didn't see him dancing with you!"

Luna cleared her throat ostentatiously. Then she delicately extracted a note from between the butterfly's feelers and unrolled it with her little finger. "How very, very interesting," she said in a loud stage whisper. "I'm amazed at how much writing can be fit on these tiny little parchments."

"Sisterly solidarity, remember?" whispered Vanessa.

"Right, right," answered Kitty. As one, the sisters turned to Blaise.

"How could you send a wish note to her?" wept Kitty. "After all we've shared?" Vanessa pulled a handkerchief from her rather scrawny bosom for her sister to sniff into, which she did quite theatrically.

Blaise looked at Luna again, but she was busily reading the note. He mouthed her name. She stroked the butterfly's head. He turned back to the two girls with a scowl.

"All right. That's it! Kitty Pucey, we've shared a very uninspired dance and an utterly unsuccessful attempt on your part to inveigle me into looking down your dress at a sight I assure you I had no particular interest in seeing. And as for you, Vanessa, whatever it is that you and your sister might share... well, everything you've heard about my reputation is more than true, but I'd prefer to swear to celibacy for the rest of my life than to enter into a threesome with you!"

A sudden hush seemed to fall across the entire ballroom at that exact moment. Had it happened before what Blaise said, or after? wondered Ginny. She couldn't be sure. She was sure that Blaise's face really could turn an astonishingly bright shade of red. I didn't even know it was possible. And a number of people were staring at Blaise and Luna. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Gaylord Humperdinck were among them. Yes, Ginny was sure about that too.

Then Pansy was grabbing Blaise by one ear and dragging him behind a potted palm. "If this was your idea of attempting a distraction," her crackling voice snarled, "let me tell you that it was utter rubbish, Zabini! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Look—I didn't—I wasn't—I didn't mean to send that to Luna, you know I didn't—" he sputtered.

"I don't want to hear another word from you. Not one single word. Daphne, can you hear me? We've got to do something—I don't know what—something to take their attention off this; you know who I mean, I don't particularly care about everyone else, but they saw it all and they heard every word!"

"There's no point in being too hard on him," said Daphne. "You know very well that he really couldn't help it."

"Yes, yes; nobody could help anything, I know, but Humperdinck's going to send word about all this to Potter the second dinner's over, and you know it. I don't care how harmless you think he is! Get down here now, Greengrass."

"That's odd," snapped Daphne. "Five minutes ago I could have sworn I heard you hissing at me that it was the worst thing I could possibly do."

"I don't see how things could be worse now! Come on. I think I've got an idea, and you're going to help me."

"Oh, joy," muttered Daphne. "Parkinson's got an idea." Ginny felt her long fingers pulling the pearl-bug from the headdress in her hair, and she heard her whispering into it. She kept staring down at the glinting green thing on Luna's hand. Something about it was nagging at her. She could almost figure it out…

The clattering sound of Daphne's slippers on the stairs broke Ginny out of the trance. "Wait, wait," Ginny said, yanking up the train of her dress. "Sorry. I just sort of went queer for a moment. I'll come with you."

"No, you won't," said Daphne. "You'll stay right here for about ten minutes. Then you'll come downstairs. It's all part of Parkinson's plan."

"But what am I supposed to do?" Ginny blinked at her. "That doesn't make sense. I'm coming down there."

"No. I will never start a fan club for Pansy Parkinson, but I must admit, she's come up with a plan that'll work if anything possibly can do at this point," Daphne said rather grimly. "You can't know exactly what's going on, Ginny; it's better if you don't, because you've got to sort of walk into it. Just play along, all right? All you've got to remember is that you're having a wild fling with Blaise, but he's a hopeless male slut. Oh, and you're dreadfully jealous. Have you got that?"

"What?" exclaimed Ginny. But it was too late. Daphne had fled. Ginny ran to the other side of the balustrade, but Pansy, Dean, Luna, and the rest had already disappeared. "

"I've got a bad, bad feeling about all of this," she muttered. And she could hear that the members of the orchestra were chattering to each other and getting up out of their seats, so apparently things were about to get worse.

There was no way to get down the stairs now even if Pansy hadn't forbidden it. She's a bit too fond of her own plans, thought Ginny, remembering the time the Slytherin girl had suggested handing over Harry to Voldemort in exchange for saving the entire school. Of course—the corners of her mouth quirked up—maybe that hadn't been the worst plan in the world, come to think of it. She moved to the left in order to avoid the violinists, who seemed determined to follow her. What am I going to do when I hit the far wall? she wondered. She never did, though; she just kept going further and further until finally their argument about differing concepts of Mozart's Violin Concerto #1 in B Flat Major simply faded into the distance. Ginny heaved a sigh of relief. I thought I'd never lose them. I can't hear a thing anymore. And I can't even see that bassoon player in the weird chartreuse turban. In fact, I can't really see much of anything… oh, no…

She stopped. She was surrounded by a swirling, silent grey mist. Icy chills ran up her spine. I went too far, she realized. I'm lost.

No. She knew where she was; she certainly knew what sort of space she'd entered, but she would find her way out any second. She had to believe that. Ginny took a deep breath, counting her heartbeats, digging her nails into her palms to feel the faint sensation of pain. She must not lose track of time.

This was only an illusion. It had to be. She'd walked through the corridors in the soft spaces with Draco earlier that day, although it seemed a lifetime ago, and there had been walls and ceilings and doors. It was just a matter of finding them now. Ginny groped out with her hands, feeling for something solid. She walked even further.

Tap. Tap. Taptaptap.

Ginny stopped. She saw something ahead of her now; it was moving along a wall. Something…. Or someone. A flash of silver. A light? A mirror? Or perhaps a head of moonlight-colored hair.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Draco?

Could she have been right? Had he come back up here, and got lost in the same way she herself had done? Brief, terrifying images tumbled through her mind. Draco searching for a way out, wandering further and further into the mists. Trapped. He couldn't get out. He can't get out! Neither can I! She started to run, stumbling over the trailing hem of her gown, slipping, almost falling, her hands outstretched; she was spinning through space because there was nothing to touch or hold onto, and then she felt hands catching hers and holding her up.

But they weren't Draco's hands. They weren't the hands of anyone she knew. The mists were so thick now that Ginny couldn't even see who they belonged to.

"Let me past," she gasped. "I've got to find—" The words died on her lips. She knew who had found her. She was looking into the calm, faintly amused face of Prudence Johnson, the madame of the Crystal Palace. She should have been relieved, she knew, but she wasn't.

"Is he all right?" she asked, not even caring what sort of fool she must sound.

"Draco is perfectly safe just now," said Prudence.

She knew who I meant without even having to ask, thought Ginny, but she couldn't even care about that. She felt… relieved? Well…yes, but…

"Do you believe I'm telling you the truth?" asked Prudence.

Ginny could feel herself blushing. "Yes. Um… thank you. I'm sorry I got lost. It's just that I was trying to get away from the violinists, and then I… er… I thought I might have seen him." She felt an exceptionally strong desire to change the subject. "Why is it so impossible to see anything here? We were in the soft spaces only a few hours ago, and they looked like normal corridors. I can't even tell where the floor is."

"Come with me," said Prudence, beckoning to Ginny. "It's less than entirely safe to remain so far into the space for very long."

I'm only following her because she's right, Ginny thought more than a bit resentfully. And I might have figured that much out myself, thank you very much. I thought Pansy Parkinson was bad! She's a thousand times worse.

"A great deal of magical power is required in order to pull the Crystal Palace into the past for an entire night," Prudence said after they had walked to a spot where the mists were much thinner. "It creates a situation that's rather like a high holiday of power, but much more so. The softness of the space is intensified, you might say. But then, too, all soft spaces do not operate in quite the same way to begin with. You might think of… shall we say… certain experiences you've had at the ones you've visited, for example?"

Ginny nodded, remembering the night of her art opening at Bas-Bleu that May when she'd gone through the side door in order to avoid the crowd and got hopelessly lost, and had wandered through the corridors of an increasingly strange vision when she'd thought she'd met Daphne, then Dean, and then… and then…

Draco.

Inwardly, she writhed at the memory. It still felt so real. She'd never be able to forget the look of disgust and disdain on Draco's face when he'd opened the door and seen her in Dean's arms. The words he'd said still felt as if they echoed in her ears. You're not pure. You can't purify me now. You're no better than Marie. But he'd never actually said those words, and that was what would never make any sense to her. He'd never been there; it couldn't have actually happened. She'd proven that when she'd tested him with the truth spell on Halloween night. He couldn't have lied. And besides, there were photographs of both him and Astoria published in wizarding socialite magazines taken on the date of the art opening. She still had no idea what had really happened, or what it had all meant…

Ginny suddenly realized that Prudence had been staring at her for the gods only knew how long.

"Is Malfoy really all right?" she asked.

"Yes," said Prudence. She studied Ginny with her bottomless dark eyes. "But he will need your help tonight, Ginny Weasley. He is in greater danger than you know."

"I do know," said Ginny. "I'm going to do everything I possibly can."

"Yes, I believe that you will," said Prudence. "But he will never admit how much he needs your help. I know him very well, you see."

"You do?" Ginny asked through lips that were suddenly cold and numb. She was talking to the beautiful madame of the oldest whorehouse in the wizarding world. The Malfoys had an entire private suite of rooms in the Crystal Palace, for gods' sake; Draco had spent an entire month there for his initiation when he was sixteen years old… and who knew how often he'd really been back since then? Horrible thoughts were racing through Ginny's mind. Just how well did Prudence Johnson know Draco Malfoy?

"I think I need to go back downstairs right now," said Ginny.

The older woman held up a hand. "Wait."

"I…" Ginny put a hand to her forehead. "Wait for what?"

"Only this. I would warn you to take care," said Prudence. "The Pureblood Ball is a perilous place for you."

"What do you mean?" Ginny thought rapidly. "Because of what it is? Or where it is?"

She knew at once she had somehow hit on a truth; a glancing blow, at least. "It's something about this space, isn't it?" She tried to keep her voice as low and calm as possible, but it kept rising. "Something about the soft places? When I was here with Draco, when we were all by ourselves, was that dangerous too?"

Prudence shook her head, sending the rubies in her headdress dancing. "I can tell you no more."

"I've figured out something, haven't I?" Ginny persisted. Even as she spoke, she knew that she had gone too far. Something about what she had said had to be true. The sudden rigidity of the other woman's face told her that, the subtle clues in her stance. But the moment was passing, and she was dismally aware that it was probably her own fault.

The older woman seemed to retreat into herself, to become impossibly remote, to speak from a great distance even as they stood so close that Ginny could smell the jasmine perfume coming off her skin. "You must go, Ginny Weasley. And you must leave now."

The chance had slipped through Ginny's fingers. She could feel is tingling on her skin, that lost opportunity to learn more. Her eyebrows swooped together into one angry auburn line. "Oh, yeah? Well, join the club. Apparently, nobody is ever going to tell me fuck-all again!"

She stomped down the stairs, unable to tell if she was angrier at Prudence Johnson or at herself. Maybe I should've insisted on staying, maybe if I refused to go away, she would have told me more, or at least dropped a few hints. But no. I've got to get back down there, no matter what.

Thaddeus Nott approached her with a cup of rum punch and a broad smile. She gave him a murderous glare. For the briefest moment, she rather hoped she hadn't given him a heart attack. Oh, what of it! There's bound to be an Automated External Defibrillation charm around here somewhere.

She pushed her way past Kitty and Vanessa Pucey, who snickered and started to whisper. She whirled around to give them both a vicious look. Kitty turned white, and Vanessa hastily pulled out an embroidered silk fan and a bag of smelling salts.

Ginny continued to stalk across the ballroom floor, smiling grimly as she noticed that a path seemed to be clearing itself for her. What a pity that I didn't bring any of George's new Nuclear Nutter Butters, she thought. It's just what this Ball needs. Except that I still don't know exactly where Dr—Malfoy went. Oh, gods, where is he? Could he have been what I saw? Prudence didn't say I hadn't seen him, just that he was all right… but how could he be possibly all right if he was lost in one of the soft spaces?

She stopped short just before running into a closed door at the very end of the room. No. It wasn't quite closed, she saw. "Psst!" hissed a voice from the tiny opening. "Ginny. Lean down."

She pressed her ear to the crack. "Daphne?" she whispered back.

"Yes, yes. Listen. This is one of the smaller dinner rooms. Humperdinck will be coming in here any minute now to talk with Shacklebolt. That's all you need to know."

"But—"

"Just remember what I told you earlier!"

Before Ginny had a chance to respond, the door opened, and Daphne pulled her inside, slamming it shut again at once.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked blankly.

"We didn't want you to know, Gin," said Dean in an exaggerated stage whisper. "But it's too late now. You might as well learn the truth."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

An extremely loud female moan came from somewhere or other.

"Oh, Blaise!"

"What's that?" Ginny peered around and found the source under a table. Millicent was straddling Blaise and busily unbuttoning the fly of his breeches. He caught Ginny's eye and gave an agonized groan.

"Gin! My angel; my love! My pure, innocent, sweet little darling… that you should ever have been exposed to the depths of my depravity… Words can't express the depths of my sorrow and regret; really, they can't. But I suppose you ought to have expected it. Remember my raging sex drive? Well, one woman can't satisfy it. That's my shameful secret."

"Not that it's much of a secret," chirped Millicent. "I saw him snogging Pansy an hour ago. And Dean. Should I say that? Oops, I shouldn't; not around here. I mean, half the purebloods play for the other team sometimes, but you know how it is; we can't admit it…" She raised her voice again to a level that Ginny thought the entire millennium must have heard. "Okay, let's just stick with Pansy! He had his tongue stuck so far down Pansy's throat, it was practically coming out her ear."

"I think that's enough, Milly," said Daphne. "I won't play the innocent either, Ginny. I'm afraid I was shagging Blaise in the coach on the way in."

"What?" Ginny asked incredulously. Daphne moved forward and stepped on her foot. "Ow!"

"That's right, Ginny," Daphne said, looking steadily into her eyes. "We've all been shagging Blaise like mad, because he's an utter male slut. So Luna's far from the only one. And you're horribly jealous of all of us. Right?"

The other penny dropped at last. "Ohhhh," said Ginny as comprehension dawned. "Right!" She cleared her throat and gave the most theatrical sniff she could manage. "Blaise, how could you! I trusted you! I thought you cared!"

"Well, I do, Ginstress," said Blaise, shrugging. "It's just that there are approximately three and a half billion other females in the world, and most of them seem willing to have sex with me. So…"

"But with my friends!" wept Ginny. "Pansy! And Daphne! And Luna!" She hoped fervently that she'd thrown Luna's name into the mix in the most casual way possible. "And Millicent!" She stabbed a finger at the Slytherin girl. "She's the worst of all."

"Ginny Weasley! That's not very nice," Millicent said indignantly.

"Not very nice!" Ginny said as dramatically as she could. Oh, I really, really wish I could act… "I'll tell you what's not very nice, Millicent Bulstrode. Unbuttoning the breeches of my boyfriend under the dessert table at the Pureblood Ball—now that isn't what I would call nice!"

"We didn't have time to do a single thing!" protested Millicent in her most booming voice. "All I did was to ask him if big bad Blaise wanted to come out to play!"

At the door, a throat was cleared.

There was a dead silence. Slowly, Ginny turned her head to look. Her stomach plummeted to the floor.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was watching them, all right, and Gaylord Humperdinck was with him. But there were two other people at their side that Ginny certainly hadn't expected to see. She was willing to bet that none of the rest had, either.

Astoria and Theodore Nott stared back at them all with glacial eyes.

Author notes: (1) (Hello, cousin. Hello. It's pleasant to see you. And you also. I wonder if… No. Of course not.) Dean and Kingsley Shacklebolt are speaking French Creole to each other.