A/N: Chapter 100! YAY! (Runs around singing the Happy 100th Chapter Song.) Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially: tryntee13 and amethyst-rose
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Ginny watched Draco hurry towards the other end of the room and disappear through the smaller doors leading to the little conservatory. The rest of the room came back into focus. She noticed that Daphne was standing nearby, looking distracted.
"So what happens now?" Ginny asked her. "Do you know?"
"I'd be overjoyed if I could tell you just that, but I can guarantee that my Divination skills aren't up to the task," said Daphne. Her eyes skipped round the room.
"Dean's still talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt over in the corner," said Ginny.
"I don't have the slightest idea why you'd think it would make any difference to me. We're not together anymore. We—"
"You had a noble instinct and decided he'd be better off without you, didn't you?" Ginny asked quietly.
Daphne looked distressed. "Oh, how did you know?"
"Those seem to be making the rounds of former Slytherins lately." Ginny glanced at Blaise and Luna. They were holding hands as they walked out the door into the ballroom. "But you can get over them, you know. Daphne, get back with Dean, for gods' sake."
"I can't," said Daphne. "You don't know my family; it's not the same sort of situation as it is with Luna and that thick idiot Blaise—"
Daphne frowned and cut herself off, brushing at her cheek. Then she caught her breath. A butterfly was circling her head. As Ginny watched, Daphne outstretched her hand, and the butterfly settled on it. It was colored blue and white, in exactly the same pattern as Dean's breeches and tailcoat. It held out a tiny parchment between two feelers. Daphne took it without a word and unrolled it between two fingernails. Her eyes widened as she read.
Ginny watched Daphne carefully fold the parchment into a miniature ball and tuck it into her reticule. Her chest was beginning to ache again. "Do you think it's true, what I've heard about butterfly wish notes?" she asked abruptly. "You don't have to tell me what yours said. I'm not asking that. I only mean…I'm just wondering…"
"Blaise told you something about it, didn't he?" asked Daphne.
"Well, yes." Ginny tried to remember his exact words. "He pretty much said that the notes contain things the sender would say if they had to tell the truth. If they didn't have any choice. Do you think that's what they really are, though?"
"I don't know," said Daphne. She was still fingering the part of her reticule where she had put the note. "But I didn't have a chance to finish what I was saying, Ginny. Dean really is much better off without me."
Ginny's eyes traced the original path of the butterfly. It led to a small group of men near the door; Gaylord Humperdinck laughing at something Andy had said, Shacklebolt holding forth on something, and Dean… Dean… He was staring at Daphne, and the hunger in his eyes was unbearable to see.
"No, he isn't, Daph," she said. "Find a way."
"Aren't you coming?" Pansy asked Ginny a bit later.
"In a minute," said Ginny.
"You ought to come now. Didn't you hear what that clock-elf said?"
"I will do, soon," said Ginny.
Pansy glanced to both sides. Then she leaned in and whispered. "Listen to me. Draco's all right now; he's got off the hook successfully enough this time. But Potter certainly meant it when he said he wouldn't give up. You, of all people, know that. And you can't underestimate Nott. His family's nearly as old as the Malfoys; they've got a great deal of power and influence, far more than mine or Daphne's or even Zabini's, although I don't suppose Blaise would ever admit it."
"I'm sure you're right," said Ginny. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Oh—" Pansy really looked as if she were about to throw her hands up in the air at any second, thought Ginny. "Nothing can stop you from doing it anyway, so I suppose that you might as well."
"Malfoy said that he'd been talking to a protocol-elf about historical records from past Pureblood Balls. What kind of information would he get that way?"
"I don't know. Some sort of attendance record, I suppose, or at least that's my most likely guess. You can ask him later, if you like. You ought to get out of here now," snapped Pansy.
"I'll leave in just a minute," said Ginny.
"I have never known anyone as stubborn as you, Ginny Weasley," said Pansy.
Ginny smiled. "Thanks."
Ginny wandered away until she was standing behind a potted palm. She stroked the green leaves of the plant, feeling oddly adrift and unmoored. I wish I'd snatched that portfolio out of Draco's hand, she thought. I could look at the sketches again, at least. Not at the secret ones, of course. They probably aren't even there. Oh, who knows—maybe he took them out and hid them from me! She looked down at her own hands. How empty they feel, not even entirely sure what she meant. I wish I had something to grab onto.
She wandered a bit further and stopped at the little glass doors leading into the small conservatory, staring at them blankly. The strange feeling of being untied from everything was growing stronger than ever, and it was beginning to make her feel vaguely afraid. She looked round. She was all alone in the room, and she wasn't even sure when the last person had left. Time had simply seemed to slip away, as if she had been struck with a wandless Lento spell and left to stand enchanted while the world moved round her, she thought. She shook her head impatiently.
It's certainly been more than five minutes, she thought. Why am I standing here like an idiot? Well, he did tell me to stay in this room…
Her eyes had adjusted to the darker space past the doors by now. She could see shapes moving in the conservatory. She catalogued them absently. Dean and Daphne, she thought.
Why am I doing what Malfoy says, anyway? How far has that ever got me before? Pansy was right. I ought to turn round and leave this second. If he has anything to say to me, he can bloody well owl me in the morning. I'm leaving. Ginny began to pace, showing no signs of moving towards the exit.
Five minutes, he said. It's been twenty at least. Probably more. Never am I ever doing this again. This is the last time, the very last. Just what the hell is he doing anyway? An awful thought stole into her mind. He's not… he wouldn't… did Harry catch him? Did Theo Nott? What if they were both waiting for Malfoy, and the second he set foot out of this room, they grabbed him? What if they stuffed him into a carriage and he's halfway to a boat headed for Azkaban right now? And what if that's why he hasn't come back! Oh, don't be fucking stupid, Weasley! Harry and Nott are both long gone…. Aren't they? Of course they are, they must be. They were both all but thrown out, and Malfoy can handle himself perfectly well anyway, and-
And-
Daphne's visions in May, her memory whispered. Something terrible will happen within six months. Draco's at the center of it, and so are you, Ginny. Her own visions of Draco slumped on a cot in Azkaban, waiting for a footstep he never heard, a touch he never felt-
Abruptly, she stopped. There was a form moving past the glass door in the distance. She could just see that it had shimmering hair. Another shape was moving stealthily behind him. Stalking him, she thought. Whoever it was moved carefully from shrub to perfectly trimmed shrub. The person had a flash of dirty-blonde hair. A certain way of skulking behind hedges. Something… something familiar… Ginny had seen enough. Without a second's hesitation, she opened the glass doors and slipped through.
A hot wave of mist rolled up and over her instantly, as insistently as a riptide in a tropical ocean. The undertow of heat and steam and crowding flowers and green leaves pulled at her savagely. Ginny gasped for air, holding onto the trunk of an orange tree. She brought her hand up to her face and it dripped and steamed with damp. What the hell was going on?
She tried to walk and instantly lost her balance. The ground itself seemed to be rolling under her feet. But, wait…. wait, it wasn't neatly raked pea gravel laid out into garden paths, it was solid wood, and she felt a carpeted runner under her shoes. No, she didn't. Yes, she did. Back and forth, back and forth…
The hedge maze ahead of her wavered into darkness. The green leaves and brown branches flickered into wood-paneled walls with wainscoting half the way up and red-paneled paper on top. They were lined with doors. The white china knobs, the brass keyholes winking at her in the faint orange witchlight—
Then Ginny shook her head fiercely, and she was back in the conservatory once again.
And there- there was Draco's bright head moving far ahead of her, through hedges that roiled and writhed like a thousand tortured fingers. She could see him. And there was the person who had followed him, too; she recognized them by the stealthy movements, the skulking ways, and then that hair, that particular shade of dirty blonde, she could see it from here—
Astoria? Was Draco actually talking to her?
Ginny began walking quickly in the other direction. The earth snatched itself away from under her feet and she felt her palms hit the dirt; she grabbed at the roots of the trees and they fought against her hands; something else was grabbing her and she fought against that too, and then Draco was pulling her to her feet, her arms going round her, holding her own arms to her sides.
"Damn it, Weasley, what have I told you about indiscriminate attacks?" he snarled at her.
She glared up into his furious face. "Let go of me!"
"Oh, no. Not here. What the hell is the matter with you? Why can't you stay where I put you for five minutes running?" He was dragging her somewhere, she realized. She would have fought him, except that the ground and trees and very air seemed to be doing a pretty respectable job of that on their own. But at least they weren't turning into anything else, not now.
Quieter. Quieter. Finally, everything was silent. Ginny realized by degrees that she was walking into warm, calm darkness, the scent of earth and roses rising around her. The warmth was held in by glass walls; she could see the faint shimmer up in the darkness, and the heat pressed in on the bare skin of her arms and chest and neck. She could feel the heat of Draco's body next to her, too, and it all threatened to make her feel langorous and weighted-down, as if moving underwater. If she gave in, that was. She wasn't about to do it. And yet….
Her mind was spinning with confusion. How could she have actually seen him with Astoria? He'd come to her only a few seconds after she'd fallen to the ground. He couldn't have possibly got there that fast. She was no longer sure what she had really seen at all, or where she had been, or what had happened.
"What the hell was that, Malfoy?" she asked.
He seemed to be having a great deal of trouble controlling his breathing, she noticed. Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to say anything just yet.
"Weasley, I told you to stay in that room until I came for you," he said, each word exaggerated in clarity and flawless diction. "There was a very good reason for that particular plan."
"So are you planning to tell me what it is?"
She was sure he wouldn't. But after a few more deep breaths, he spoke again.
"After the end of the Pureblood Ball, the Crystal Palace reverts to its present-day state. During that period of transition, the nature of the soft spaces is remarkably unpredictable. So all of this can create some rather dangerous situations—at least to those who don't know where they're going or what they're doing, and who don't listen to those who attempt to offer them advice."
"Pansy wanted me to leave," said Ginny. "She asked me if I'd listened to what the clock-elf had said, about taking caution to leave on time… was that what he meant?"
"Yes, that's certainly what he meant." Draco let out a long sigh. "Let's sit down, Weasley." She felt him seating her on a white, wrought-iron bench. It was behind two huge rose-bushes studded with enormous dark-red roses in full bloom. A fountain with a cupid spurting water further hid them from view. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, lilies, gardenias, jasmine… Ginny couldn't begin to identify all of the flowers she smelled.
"Shite. I shouldn't have left you alone at all," muttered Draco. "I blame myself. I ought to have known better than to think you were capable of staying in one place, or doing as you were asked. But…" One corner of his mouth turned up. "At least you did do one thing as requested, Weasley; you didn't leave with Pansy Parkinson."
Her mind was still not working very clearly, she realized. She had that strange sense again, that she was like a little boat sailing on an endless dark sea. She wondered just how much danger she had been in before Draco came to find her. She stared into the dark space and smelled the scent of roses wafting out at her.
"So why did you want me to stay, Malfoy?" The question came out sounding much less guarded than she had wanted it to.
"I…"
She waited. He would finish the sentence, of course.
"I wanted to ask you many things, Weasley," Draco finally said. "All of them very important. But I thought that we would have more time for explanations first. We don't have that sort of time now."
"Oh, shite, not that again!" exclaimed Ginny. "Malfoy, I've already told you that I won't tolerate—"
He grabbed her hands and held them between both of his.
Ginny stopped speaking, stopped breathing, stopped thinking. In less than a heartbeat, the world had contracted to just the two of them, alone in the conservatory with the scent of roses all round them, like the vases of roses on the table in the Malfoy rooms.
Draco kept his eyes on hers. "If I asked you to do something with me tonight, I wonder what you would say."
"I—you—Malfoy, what's this all about?" Ginny could hear her own voice, very high and tinny and far away.
"Just what I've said."
"That… I guess…. It would depend on what it is." Ginny looked down at her shoes, trying desperately to ground herself.
Draco looked at her steadily; he wouldn't stop, he would devour her with his eyes alone, she thought dazedly. "I told you not to go outside the boundaries of the illusion tonight, Weasley. But now I want you to leave them with me. I'd like to take you somewhere, if I may."
"Is that what you wanted to ask me?"
"No," he said. "I will ask you my question once we're there."
"Do you want to take me into one of the soft spaces? Is that where this is?"
He seemed to turn the question over in his mind before answering. "Yes," he finally said.
Oh, no.
An awful thought flashed through Ginny's mind. A memory. A cascade of sensual knowledge she had tried to suppress with everything that was in her. She now knew that she had failed, and that she would always fail. It had all returned.
Draco Malfoy would take her hand and run his fingers up and down her arm, gently, as if by accident, and she would close her eyes and fall into the sensation of his skin moving on hers. Then, when her defenses were thoroughly down, he would Apparate away with her, but not very far. He would take her outside the boundaries of the illusion, but not outside of the Crystal Palace. She would open her eyes to find them both in the luxurious Malfoy rooms. And he would ask her the same thing he'd asked her one month earlier.
Will you be my Malfoy mistress, Ginny Weasley? Will you let me lead you into all the pleasures of the flesh? I promise to give you pleasure that you've never known, never even imagined. He would keep his promise, she knew.
No. No. Her answer would not be, could not be, anything other than it had been before.
"I—I can't, Malfoy," Ginny said in a weak but determined voice. She edged away and ran the skin of her arm up and down a thorn of the stem of a rose, up and down, up and down, trying to use the tiny bit of pain to come back to herself. Draco moved with her as if he knew what she was trying to do, and she felt his hands cradling hers, swallowing hers, his fingers stroking hers lightly. Pleasure and pain.
"I know what you want, Malfoy, and it's not that—I mean- But I just can't-"
He looked at her silently. She began to feel a little foolish. No, more than a little. Maybe this place really is starting to drive me mad, she thought. "So what is it, then?" she asked.
"I can't tell you," he said.
It was as if he had struck her. "No," she said automatically, yanking herself away. He let her go.
"You don't understand. Listen to me—"
"There's nothing to listen to. No. Never again. You are not doing that to me, ever again."
