No matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn't take his eyes off Weasley. He stole glances at her from across the room. When he tilted his head back to take a sip of his mead, he did so in her direction for another excuse to look her way. A couple times, their eyes met, and he watched as she inserted herself back into the conversations she was having with her brother and Granger. He noticed a blush creeping up her chest whenever she caught him looking at her.

Normally, Draco was much better at compartmentalizing his emotions. He didn't dwell on things that bothered him in public and he certainly didn't make it apparent he was actually dwelling on anything to those in public. But to him, Ginny Weasley was a lifeline, and he was clinging to her. Indeed, he was surprised to have run into her all those weeks ago on Goyle's wedding night, but ever since then, he couldn't seem to stay away from her. He kept thinking about what she said. That thing about nothing changing since the war. Maybe it was childhood pride, but he almost wanted to prove to her that she was wrong. Perhaps if she could see the lengths to which he would go to prove himself a changed man, he could redeem his name is some small way.

He was, also, incredibly lonely.

Having spent most of his spare time studying alchemical manuscripts since the war, Draco knew he showed his discomfort when in public. He had been relieved when he saw Weasley had come alone. If only because he was somewhat regarding her as his only friend, currently, due to the time they had begun to spend in proximity.

And that bloody green dress.

The alcohol Draco was consuming was far exceeding his ability to eat anything. House Elves had come around with flutes of champagne and shots of firewhiskey, but dinner had not been served yet. It was becoming increasingly harder and harder for Draco to stay put and not approach Weasley. He didn't have a particular need to speak with her, but he wanted to keep looking at her, and the only way he could keep doing that was by talking to her.

He grabbed another shot of firewhiskey instead.

"Draco, darling, do pace yourself," came Pansy's voice, making him jolt. "Dinner's not until eight. And was that Weasley I saw you dancing with?"

Draco smirked. "Pansy. How's the auction, going?"

"Brilliantly." She kissed his cheeks, but quickly recovered. "But I heard people whispering about you and the Weasley girl."

"How's Theo? Where is he, by the way?" Though he was blushing, Draco's voice didn't falter. He would not let Pansy know she had caught him off guard.

"At the auction," said Pansy, rolling her eyes. She indicated the next room with a tilt of her head.

"How we doing?" Draco winked.

"Well, Draco. You're doing well," she rushed. "Now tell me what's this about you and Weasley, I'm hearing?"

Draco sighed, annoyed. "Potter couldn't make it tonight and she needed a partner." Unable to help himself, he looked across the room at her again, deep in conversation with her brother and Granger.

"Bullocks! She looks better than I do," said Pansy, following Draco's gaze.

He had almost agreed with her but stayed silent instead.

"Come see how much we raised, darling," said Pansy, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to his feet. He chanced one last glance at Weasley, only to find she was already looking at him.

Dinner arrived, for which Draco was grateful. He needed something to coat his stomach aside from the alcohol. He was eating with the Harpies, but Weasley was sitting only two chairs to his left, so he caught just quick images from his peripheral vision. Still, Gwenog Jones sat directly next to him, and she filled the space between them with amicable conversations, included her whole team, and allowing Draco the opportunity to jump in when he wanted to but not demanding it. He was grateful to her for that, because when he was able to catch a glimpse of Weasley, he found he lost track of what the girls were discussing.

Draco, though, was pleased with how the night was going so far, despite Weasley's distracting dress. Pansy was right about the auction doing well, and they still had another hour to go for that. The dancing, on the other hand, would go all night.

It was quite old fashioned, the gala he was throwing, but Draco knew he would need to reach into the past a little bit to clear his name with the community. Old customs like this were easy for him to remember, thanks to Lucius and Narcissa. He had years of experience. But perhaps to the rest of the wizarding community, it wasn't the norm. Witches and wizards had yet to leave the dancefloor, seemingly choosing to eat dinner in shifts so as not to lose their spot. If nothing else, everyone was enjoying themselves at the very least.

He caught sight of Weasley dancing with Lovegood, twirling in laughter. He thought suddenly of her first year of Hogwarts. How he had learned she had been possessed by the Dark Lord. How it had been all at the hands of his father. Was that the difference? The possession? He himself hadn't been possessed, but coerced nonetheless. Was that why he couldn't forgive himself? Could he have had a choice?

Abruptly, he rose from the dinner table and made to find some air. Once out on the balcony, he clutched his left arm. A phantom burn always seemed to linger whenever he thought about his past. He tried to shake it off, downing his drink. After a few deep breaths, Draco turned to go back inside.

"Weasley," he called. The shock of her green dress against the dark of the evening made it unmistakable it was her he had run into.

"Sorry, I was just—"

"I'm sorry for slapping you." It was out of his mouth before he could help it. It was too little and months too late, but he saw the edges of Weasley soften, her mouth in a silent 'oh' of surprise. He blamed her dress for his bad decorum.

Weasley smiled in appreciation. Draco noticed the blush from her chest rising slowly. He was glad for the excuse to look. Potter was an idiot for missing this.

"Congratulations on a successful night," said Weasley finally. "I checked in at the auction. There's only ten minutes left, but you've already surpassed your goal."

"I still have a long way to go." Draco shrugged his shoulders, as if he was trying to play his response off as a joke.

A House Elf came by with flutes of champagne and more shots of firewhiskey. To his surprise, Weasley grabbed two flutes, then tipped the elf a few silver sickles that she pulled from her clutch. She offered Draco one of the flutes.

"I should probably stop drinking," Draco mumbled, but he grabbed the flute anyway.

"Come on, everyone wants a taste of the stars." Weasley smiled.

"The stars?"

When Weasley laughed in response, Draco had to hold his breath. It was growing increasingly difficult to be in her presence. He was feeling uncomfortable. There was still a phantom burning sensation on his left arm, but now that Weasley was here, his stomach was knotting and unknotting on repeat. It had been a long time since a woman made him feel this way, and he wasn't sure how to digest this feeling. She was a Weasley after all, though blood status be dammed. In the current climate, those things didn't much matter anymore and Draco was trying to adapt. Still, he couldn't believe how attracted he was to her tonight. He blamed that bloody green dress.

"It's something my dad used to say. When we were kids and missed out on the toasts and pouted about it. He'd always look at Mum and say, 'See, everyone wants to taste the stars.'" She held her flute delicately but strode over to the balcony and leaned against it, not drinking.

Draco cleared his throat. "What are we toasting, then?"

"Well, you did just apologize to a Weasley so I thought I'd mark the occasion."

Draco shook his head, only slightly amused.

"Er—the brooms should be in this week," said Draco awkwardly. He mussed his hair with his hand for something to do before joining her. Though his fingers were growing cold from the flute, he was still waiting for her to drink first.

"Great," was all she said, leaving Draco grasping, and then finally, she lifted her flute. "To you," she said before downing the champagne in one go.

Draco smiled. "To that dress," he replied before he swallowed the stars, too.

Weasley smiled and Draco understood her to feel proud. They both sat in comfortable silence as they watched the house elves clean up the hall. From the looks of it, only those stubborn enough to not leave the dance floor were still left. Aside from Weasley, the other Harpies had all gone home. Seeing as it was almost midnight, Draco wondered if anyone else Weasley knew was still here. He hoped they weren't, if only so she could sit beside him longer.

"Bit chilly," said Weasley suddenly, wrapping her arms around herself. She stood to make her way back inside.

"Do you think you could make sure I get home okay?" Draco tried to ignore the plead in his voice.

Weasley turned around and smirked.

"I've had a lot to drink tonight. I don't fancy getting myself splinched."

"Er—let me grab my cloak."

Draco was surely nervous now. He needed to get away from her, but instead he was doing everything in his power to keep her close. The burning sensation on his left arm was still lingering. He gripped it, as if pressing the remains of the Dark Mark further into his skin would made it hurt less. He shook his head.

"Alright?" said Weasley from the doorway. He was sad to see the cloak covering her plunging neckline. "Is there anything you have to do before…we go?" He noticed a slight catch on the word we.

Draco shook his head. "I paid the elves to take care of everything. I know Granger's really pushing equality, but they were the most expensive part of the night."

He shepherded them toward the entrance. Once there, he paused awkwardly, offering his arm for Weasley to take hold of. But instead of his right, she grabbed his left and instantly, Draco stiffened. Weasley, though, was already turning on the spot, unaware of Draco's reluctance. They disappeared into the suffocating unknown with a faint cracking noise.

As they reappeared at the gate to Malfoy Manor, Draco immediately threw off Weasley's hand.

"Never grab the left," he said curtly, his gray eyes stormy.

"S-sorry," said Weasley, threatened by his tone. "Are you okay?"

"Still in once piece," he barbed.

Weasley rolled her eyes. "C'mon." She raised her wand and unlocked the front gate, started up the path without looking to see if Draco had followed her. Draco was perplexed.

"What are you doing? I can take it from here."

"Clearly, you need your arm looked at," she retorted.

"Weasley," said Draco, resignedly, "It's not that kind of pain."

But Weasley kept going, leading him to the entrance of his own home. When they arrived at the door, he unlocked it with a flick of his wand. She looked at him fiercely, her eyes travelling to his right hand gripping his left forearm tightly. He let go immediately.

Once inside, Weasley kicked off her heels. She climbed the staircase as if she knew exactly where she was going. Draco followed with bated breath. She made her way to his room, which he was quite astonished she had remembered the way to.

"Accio dittany," she said, waving her wand at the attached bathroom. A small bottle zoomed out of the cupboard. She caught it without batting an eye. "Alright, let's see it."

Draco shook his head and stayed put.

"Fine. You do it." She shoved the dittany toward him and disappeared into his bathroom, closing the door with a sharp thud.

Draco wasn't sure if she was trying to teach him a lesson or what. He was quite perplexed. Didn't she know what he was hiding underneath there? Dittany surely wasn't going to do anything for it. Like he had said earlier, it wasn't a physical pain. It was a memory of all the things that pained him. As if in a daze, he sat at his desk and started rolling up his sleeve.

What was once the Dark Mark still was, but it had faded slightly, resembling the appearance of a scar. But it was unmistakably still intact and well defined. Childishly, tears welled in his eyes. He blinked them back so they would not fall.

"Oh."

Draco hadn't heard Weasley emerge from the bathroom. He looked up and saw her rooted at the spot, her mouth hanging open in shock and embarrassment. She had removed her cloak, which was now hanging over her elbow. She had also taken down her plait so that her hair was now flowing in lose waves down her shoulders. She still looked beautiful, Draco thought, though in more of an undone sort of way.

"Would you like some tea?"

Shocked, Draco took only a moment to recover. He met Weasley's eyes again, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He was surprised to find no hatred there still.

"You'll get lost before the morning. I'll do it." He rolled up his other sleeve on the way out the door.

He returned about ten minutes later, only to find that Weasley had taken his seat at his desk.

"Alchemy? Really?" she said, wrinkling her nose. He offered her a mug but didn't respond. "Are you trying to make another Philosopher's Stone?"

"No. I'm studying how to make a Philosopher's Stone." Draco kicked his shoes off and sat at the end of his bed.

"But not to make one?"

"Correct." He watched her sip her tea apprehensively.

"Why bother?" she asked.

"I have a lot of free time." Draco shrugged. "And I like it."

"To each their own, I guess." Weasley took another sip of her tea, her eyes pausing every now and again on Draco's left forearm. Why hadn't he rolled his sleeves back down?

"It didn't go away after?" She whispered, finally.

"No."

"I'm sorry I touched you there."

"I reacted poorly."

Weasley only sipped her tea in response.

"I understand you, you know." Her voice broke the silence.

"I highly doubt that," said Draco, swallowing hard. He clutched his mug in both hands.

"I was eleven years old when I set a monster loose in the castle to kill Muggleborns. I don't remember any of it, but I did it." Her voice was quiet, almost emotionless, like it was a door down memory lane she could not open.

"I remember everything he asked of me," said Draco softly. "And everything I did and—couldn't—do."

"You're not weaker for not being able to do them," said Weasley, a blazing look in her eye.

"To everyone else, I've done unimaginable acts. People have come up with all sorts of things—I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Even I must admit that gets to me. Why do you think I've taken up studying alchemy in my free time? I've done terrible things, but not anything as bad as what they come up with."

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, you raised a ton of money for displaced families tonight," Weasley encouraged. "What do you think they're going to say about you now?"

"Whatever they damn please, I'm sure," said Draco, the corners of hips lips turning upward despite himself.

"May I?" Weasley set her empty mug on his desk and scooted next to him on the end of his bed. She didn't wait for his response, and he supposed it was just as well, because he was quite breathless with her sitting so close to him. She grabbed his left hand, careful not to touch his Mark, and brought it up to her face, resting it on the cheek he had slapped months ago.

"I forgive you."

Draco could only blame the late hour, her bloody green dress with the plunging neckline, and the aftermath of his vulnerability for what happened next. One minute, his hand was on her face because she had put it there, and the next minute it was his lips on hers because he couldn't stop himself from leaning in, nor did he want to. It was a trembling sort of kiss, one that had started with a question, but was answered with her tongue. Perhaps in the morning, he would find the whole thing revolting, but at this moment, he was pleased. At the sound of broken glass, they broke apart, but not before Draco caught sight of her dazed expression. He relished in it.

"Repairo," he said throatily, pointing his wand at the broken mug he had dropped in his haste to kiss Weasley. His lips tingled.

Weasley removed herself from the end of his bed and offered a shy smile when he looked at her.

"I should go," she said.

Draco nodded. "That would be wise."

"I'll see myself out." He watched as Weasley grabbed her cloak, her fingers pressed to her lips. She disappeared in a green blur as she sped out into the hall, leaving Draco wishing for just one more glimpse of her in that dress.