A/N: And so it begins! The wild ride to the end, that is. ;) Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially tryntee13 and amethyst-rose.
Ginny didn't want to smile. She felt something move in her chest, shy and secretive, like a very small thing with wings and feathers, longing to unfurl and spread itself. But she wasn't about to let it, and sternly, she suppressed it. As if I can trust him!
"Where have you been, Malfoy?" she asked in an undertone.
"Weasley, not now," he said he said out of one side of his mouth. "I'll tell you later, all right?"
The thing in her chest curled in on itself, whimpering silently. That made it very easy to wipe her smile away. "Who's singing the same old song now?" she asked.
How sad his eyes were, she thought. But only for a moment. It's an act, Weasley! Just an act. It's got to be.
"I promise you that I will," he said. "Just give me a bit longer, all right? Now is not the time."
"Right," she said. "You'll never tell me where you were, or what you were doing. Why even bother pretending you will?"
He gave her a very long look. "Would you believe me if I told you?"
"You might try me."
"In fact, Weasley, I was engaged in conversation with a protocol-elf. We were speaking about historical records related to past Pureblood Balls."
I'm not even going to give Malfoy the satisfaction of asking what he means by that, she decided. "That's where you were the entire time?" she asked.
He didn't answer then. Some traitorous part of her wished that he would, even if it was just to repeat that he had nothing to say to her.
"At least you brought the folder," she said, taking it out of his hand. "I suppose I ought to be satisfied with that much. I was beginning to think I'd have to draw new sketches on a napkin."
They stood next to each other without speaking for a few moments. Andy had moved to stand in front of them in a way that partially blocked their end of the table from the rest of the room, Ginny saw. He'd also moved the enormous cake plate to further block the view. Still, they would surely be noticed soon.
Draco glanced up at the wall. "It's almost time."
"What do you mean?" asked Ginny. "Well, I suppose you know what time we're supposed to give the presentation, not that I was informed."
He pointed to a clock on the wall. Its intricate silver hands rested only seconds away from End of the Ball.
"I thought it would go on a bit longer, somehow," said Ginny. "But I guess not. So what does that mean, exactly?"
"We're to present the sketches just after the official close of the Pureblood Ball."
"How nice," said Ginny. "One more vitally important thing I wasn't told. I'll add it to the list. I wonder how many more there are." Draco wasn't even looking at her, she saw with some irritation. For a smoldering second, she thought he was watching Astoria, but his eyes were on Blaise and Luna.
"Rather cozy, aren't they?" he said.
The hint of… what? Amusement? Sarcasm? Longing? No! That's certainly not it. Well, whatever it was she heard in Draco's voice, it was really almost more than the human mind could be expected to endure, Ginny decided.
"Blaise isn't getting back together with her to please you, Malfoy, so don't think he is," she snapped. "They care about each other. I know it's a foreign concept to you—"
"Hush, Weasley. They're hardly being subtle, that's all."
Ginny watched Blaise and Luna together. They were only standing close to each other; they weren't so much as touching hands, but Draco was right. The thickest idiot in the world couldn't have mistaken them for anything other than two people in love.
"You may not believe this, Malfoy, but I don't think it matters anymore." She glanced over at Astoria, who was still whispering to Theodore Nott. "Why don't you go and talk to your wife now? I'm quite sure you're expected to do, although you might need to pry Nott off her with your wand."
Draco gave Ginny an appraising glance. "I wonder what you'd say if I told you the same thing, Weasley."
"What same thing?"
"That I don't think it matters now whether I do or not. There's no need to keep up a front anymore."
Ginny dug her nails into her palms so hard that she was sure she'd have marks later on. "Whatever happened to 'play your part, Weasley'?"
"I think that our parts have been played to the finish by now, in that regard at least."
"I don't understand you at all, Malfoy," Ginny said through gritted teeth.
"But you will," Draco said softly.
The clock began to strike. One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… eleven… twelve. A hush had fallen over the room by the finish. A tiny door opened just behind the minute hand, and a miniature wooden elf popped out.
"Our festivities draw to their close," he chirped in a very high voice. "It is my proud and painful duty to announce the ending of the five thousand and seventy-eighth Pureblood Ball. Your carriages soon will be called, and I would caution you, as always, to avoid an overlong stay. So soon, so sweetly, so sorrowfully, pour faire ses adieux." He gave a tiny bow and slid back into the clock face.
"What does that mean, Malfoy?" whispered Ginny.
"Pour faire ses adieux? 'And soon, to depart.' I suppose that you've never learnt any French."
"Not that!" she said impatiently. "Why did he tell everyone not to stay too long? And why did he need to caution us? What does that mean?"
"Nothing of any importance," said Draco.
Gaylord Humperdinck bustled up to the end of the now-empty dessert table.
"Well, Draco! Or should I say Lord Malfoy? I'll stand on every bit of tiresome protocol just as thoroughly as you like, of course." He winked at Draco.
"It isn't necessary now," said Draco. "The Ball has ended; I don't use my title any longer. You'd like to announce the presentation of the sketches, I suppose?"
"I'd love nothing more. And I see you've got them with you!" His eyes twinkled. "My, my, my. Something tells me that particular inconvenient fact just might disappoint certain members of said company! But I don't imagine that troubles you too terribly much."
"It certainly doesn't," said Draco.
"Then let's not waste any more time, shall we?" Humperdinck turned to face the room. "And now, the moment we've all been waiting for. I'm sure I can't tell you how pleased I am to tell everyone that Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasley are perfectly prepared to present their sketches." He waved a plump hand at Draco and Ginny, beaming, and then he sat down and looked up expectantly.
The entire room seemed to be looking at them expectantly, Ginny saw. Kingsley Shacklebolt's face was impassive, but he was watching them keenly. The Baroness was nibbling on a fruit tart and watching Draco greedily. Astoria and Theodore seemed tense and eager, as if they'd been waiting for this moment all night long and could hardly wait to reveal their own plans the second that the slightest hesitation or mistake left an opening. All eyes were turned towards them.
Ginny opened the portfolio and took out their sketches of the fountain sculptures. And nothing in that room mattered anymore. It was her time, her place, her moment. Ginny knew that, suddenly and completely, as an immense sense of personal peace and power settled over her.
Afterwards, she was never even quite sure what she said or did. She certainly presented the sketches. She must have done, because she did remember casting Magnification and Projection charms. The figures that she and Draco had created together hovered in the air in the round. She demonstrated how the statues would stand around the fountain by lighting the end of her wand and using it as a pointer.
Theodore Nott said something sarcastic, almost nasty. She started to snap back at him. "Yes, we produced these sketches through teamwork, Nott," said Draco. "I do seem to recall that the concept rather eluded you when you were attempting to play Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team, but I assure you, Ginny Weasley comprehends it quite well." He moved closer to then. She felt his presence next to hers like a bulwark of strength. Then he pressed her hand, and she wondered if she had ever felt so strong before in all her life.
"Perfection," said Humperdinck with a beaming smile, and then she knew that they had reached the end. "Sheer perfection! You have my full approval, Ginny—oh, I suppose I should say 'Miss Weasley.' We still do need to observe some of the tiresome formalities, don't we?" He giggled. "Of course," he added, "as long as we're on the subject of formalities, well, these sorts of projects do require final approval from the Minister."
Was this the sticking point? Ginny met Daphne's eyes, searching for some clue, but the other girl only raised her eyebrows slightly in clear confusion.
"I approve of this artistic public works project as well," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, rumbling voice. "If it were only my personal decision, the plans could be passed on to the Worrisome Ways and Means Department at the Ministry on Monday for final funding."
So they weren't done. Ginny knew that at once.
"But there is one item on the agenda," Shacklebolt went on. "I have promised to consider another proposal before my final decision."
"And we do have to take everything into consideration, don't we?" Humperdinck asked of nobody in particular.
He knows exactly what this is, thought Ginny. That means that he and Kingsley Shacklebolt went over it, and the only time they had a chance to do that was when they were closeted away with… oh, shite…
Theodore Nott rose from his seat.
"Is this proposal yours, Nott?" asked Draco in a clipped voice.
"No, Malfoy, it isn't," said Theo. There was a trace of a smug grin on his face. "It's Harry Potter's."
Ginny's heart plummeted downwards, through her chest, through her stomach, all the way down to her toes, she was sure.
"Weasley," she heard Draco muttering next to her. "Listen to me. Stand up straight. Look him in the eye. Do you want to let him get away with this? Listen to me, damn it."
Ginny nodded, and forced herself to look straight at the wide-open double doors.
Harry Potter was walking through them, his face grim and set.
"How did Harry get in here?" she asked stupidly. The idea of Bill's charm flashed across her mind briefly. There was Cambio as well. It was a Dark charm, but she wouldn't put that past him now. Perhaps he had been disguised as someone else… one of those protocol elves…. No. Harry couldn't have pulled off an acting job like that; he makes Blaise look like a master thespian!
"Potter must have entered the Crystal Palace just after the clock struck the end of the Ball," murmured Draco, his lips barely moving. "And Nott was technically his escort… yes, that's how he would have been able to get in. That explains why Nott was never seen with anyone else except my lovely wife; he couldn't properly be called her escort at all. But that wouldn't have been easy for Potter to pull off; he must have had some help."
"And what is your proposal, Harry Potter?" asked Shacklebolt.
"That Draco Malfoy isn't any sort of artist, no matter what he's managed to convince the Ministry of. He's a criminal, and should be put on trial," Harry said flatly.
Ginny could feel that Draco didn't turn to look at Astoria, but he stiffened even further at her side.
"Do you have any proof of your allegations?" Shacklebolt asked Harry, ignoring Astoria.
"He tried to break into St. Mungo's one week before Halloween," said Harry. "Didn't you, Malfoy?"
Oh, shite! thought Ginny.
"I don't believe I'm required to answer that question without an attorney present, Potter," Draco said in a rather bored voice.
Harry's face turned a bright shade of pink. "What are you talking about, Malfoy? That's Muggle law, not wizarding—"
"Yes. It is. Under the laws which I have instituted," Shacklebolt said sharply, "wizards now have that right. This is something of which you may not be aware."
"Well—it doesn't matter," snapped Harry. "He was there, and he wasn't supposed to be there. I know that as a Junior Minister, he had a right to be in any Ministry building, but he didn't officially get that title until Halloween night. So it was still against the law when he broke in, and if we question him, we can find out a good deal more about what was really going on."
"That may be," said Shacklebolt. "What we still seem to be missing, however, is any actual proof that Draco Malfoy was indeed attempting to break into St. Mungo's on that night."
Harry pointed to Astoria. "She was there. She saw exactly what he was trying to do."
Shacklebolt turned to her. "Is this true, Mrs. Malfoy?"
Astoria put a finger to her cheek and looked rather dazed. "I don't know."
"What?" exploded Harry. "Only a few hours ago, you told me—"
"Well, I just can't say. I mean, I was there only because I was trying to find him, but it was so dark in those awful tunnels on that dreadful night. I just can't be altogether sure whether I saw Draco or not."
Ginny wondered if she could get away with hexing her. Probably not. Everyone's looking.
"I see. Do you have any other proof?" Shacklebolt asked Harry.
"Well—I—" He seemed to be having a great deal of trouble putting a sentence together. Watching him, Ginny wondered if she might have felt sorry for him if she didn't know about all of the things that he'd already tried to do.
"I see no proof," Shacklebolt said flatly. "And you may have been honestly misled, Potter, but this is neither the place nor time for such allegations."
"Excuse me—I beg your pardon, Minister, may I speak?" asked Theo Nott.
Shacklebolt nodded, looking wary.
"The criminal charges that Potter's talking about aren't the only thing to consider here," said Theo Nott. He held up a folder. "We've just seen some nice sketches. That's true. But Draco Malfoy didn't have anything to do with producing any of that artwork. He couldn't possibly have done. He's not capable of it, and I can prove it."
He pulled out a sketch that made Ginny cringe when she saw it. Stick figures would be a huge improvement, she thought. Who did this? A five-year-old from a class for artistically impaired children? Oh… oh no…
A wide smile spread over Theo Nott's face. "I'll ask everyone to take a good look at this," he said, but it was clear that everyone had already done so. And at the very bottom, in a large, slanting backhand, it was signed Draco Malfoy. Ginny groaned as she recognized it at last. If she wasn't mistaken, it was one of those that Draco had rather viciously dashed off on the day they'd watched Bob Ross's Happy Trees video.
Shacklebolt conferred with Gaylord Humperdinck, and then turned back to Theo Nott. "And how is that relevant?" he asked. "Artists often create scratch work in the early stages, as Humperdinck has just finished assuring me."
"Well—maybe, but the point is that Malfoy did it! Weasley is the talented artist, and she had nothing to do with it. And if Ginny Weasley was really responsible for all of this art, then Malfoy got the office of Junior Minister of Art and Culture under false pretenses," Theo Nott said with the air of someone playing a trump card. "And seeing that he was a wanted fugitive for seven months beforehand, wouldn't that mean that some sort of crime would be involved? At the very least, it ought to be grounds for investigation."
Shacklebolt pursed his lips. "It might, at that. Ginny Weasley, do you have anything to say on the subject? Did Draco Malfoy play a part in producing these sketches?"
"I couldn't have possibly done these without him," Ginny said truthfully.
"That's not specific enough," said Theo Nott.
The Minister narrowed his eyes at Theodore. Then he turned back to speak with Humperdinck again. "You will indeed need to be more specific in your explanation, Ginny Weasley."
"And I don't want to hear a word from you, Lord Malfoy," sneered Nott. "Just her. Let her explain, if she can."
"Mr. Nott, really, that sort of attitude hardly seems necessary—" began Gaylord Humperdinck. Shacklebolt silenced him with a look.
"May I say a few words first?" asked Astoria in her most nasal voice.
"You might as well, Mrs. Malfoy," said Shacklebolt.
"Theo doesn't have it quite right, of course. Certainly, there's something wrong. But it's not Draco's fault, it's Weasley's. She lured him into all of this," said Astoria.
Ginny found herself on her feet before she even realized what was happening. "You've got to be joking!" she said, leaning forward and glaring at Astoria. "He was assigned to me! I tried to get out of it at first, until I realized that we were going to create amazing art together. That's the only reason why I didn't strangle Draco Malfoy and throw his body down one of the pit shafts in the lower levels of the Ministry, and believe me, I know exactly where all of them are." She took a deep breath and addressed Shacklebolt and Humperdinck. "Listen, I'm not even sure who did what when it comes to these sculpture sketches. But that's the nature of art. Look at this- and this- here, look at this one—" She pointed to the sinuous curves of the arms and bodies of the figures, thinking of the hidden sketches below with a painful pang, the ones they had both sworn to never show to anyone else. But were they even there, still hidden behind the rest in the folder?
"If a drawing's right, you can't say that this stroke of the pencil was done by one person, and that crosshatching was done by the second, and the highlight on the shoulder must have been done by the first—when a collaboration works, really works. Two become one, and the symmetry, the perfection, the whole, the all of it, it can't be teased apart."
Ginny finally ran out of words. Her hands came to rest on the folder, her arms feeling incredibly heavy, as if she had flown all the way there.
"That's sufficient explanation for me," said Shacklebolt.
"What do you mean?" asked Nott.
"Draco Malfoy clearly played a significant part in the creation of the later sketches. Also, Potter, you can't prove your vague allegations regarding any criminal activities. You have no case."
"Now, listen here, Shacklebolt, you can't just—" began Theo Nott in his most arrogant tones.
"Oh, but I can. And you'll find that I can also have you thrown out of here if you annoy me enough, no matter how many years your family's been attending the Pureblood Ball." Shacklebolt fixed him with an eagle eye.
Nott subsided in his chair, still mumbling something.
"And what about you, Potter?" asked Shacklebolt, turning to look at Harry. "What do you have to say?"
Harry raised his head. His eyes burned brilliant green. "This isn't over," he said.
"Yes, it is," said Shacklebolt. "And I think you'd better take your leave right now."
"I'll be glad to," said Harry, getting up and shoving back his chair with a vicious movement. "It's not as if I want to hang about the Pureblood Ball one moment longer than I have to." He gave Draco a long, measured stare. "No. This isn't over, Malfoy."
"But of course it's over, Potter," drawled Draco. "If it hadn't been, you never would have been allowed in. Now it's time for you to scurry back to your little hole again."
"Arrogant until the end, aren't you?" said Harry. "We'll see who has the last laugh."
"I suppose that we will," said Draco. "Although I do feel obliged to inform you that your usual standard of research appears to have slipped considerably. Has the helpful Granger ceased her efforts on your behalf?"
Harry went white. He slammed the double doors so viciously on his way out that Ginny was seriously afraid they would break.
The room began to empty around Draco and Ginny, but they still stayed standing at the end of the dessert table. Ginny could vaguely hear the murmuring and shuffling around her, but it seemed to be coming from someplace very far away. She wondered if Harry had looked at her or not. She had kept her eyes away from him so carefully when he wasn't talking to anyone else that she couldn't be sure. She decided that she didn't want to know, really.
"Wait for me, all right, Weasley?" Draco said to her. "I'll be back for you in five minutes."
Ginny looked up at his distracted, beautiful face. Whatever had seemed to bridge them so briefly and strongly had been broken, she realized. She looked down at the blue linen portfolio. The sketches were tucked away in it again, and she could no longer see them. That's why, she thought sadly.
"And I should wait for you… why, exactly?" she asked.
"Are we back to that again?"
"We never left it."
"Five minutes."
"Oh, all right," she sighed. I'll end up regretting this!
