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Chapter 13.  The Greatest Gift of All

          "The greatest gift of all is to love and be loved in return."

                                       — Moulin Rouge

          Saturday was a perfect day for Ginny's birthday.  It was one of the cooler summer days, the air crisp and fresh and the sun beaming early into her small room.  She lingered in bed for several minutes, half wanting to continue dozing and the other half excited for her birthday celebration.

          Draco leaves today, she thought sullenly as she flipped onto her side, burrowing deep into her bed.  The idea of him loose and womanizing in Sweden bothered her much more than it should've, and a part of her wished that she could celebrate this day with him.  The way he made her feel was exquisite, unique, and absolutely addictive, and unfortunately, also a feeling she could never achieve around anyone else.

          It was terrible, the way he'd become the first thing that crossed her mind in the mornings.  I bet he doesn't have feelings for me, she thought bitterly, recalling the previous days events.  She knew his silence didn't mean a rejection but still, he could have said something, anything.  Just thinking about the encounter brought red to her face, and she shoved her face into a pillow as if doing so would erase the event, or at least the memory.

          "Oh, who am I kidding," she grumbled ten minutes later, sitting up.  "This is my birthday, and I'm going to bloody enjoy it."

          Ginny swung her legs over the bed and padded over to the bureau, mentally checking off which clothes she could wear.  It was a large wardrobe, made of solid oak, its two great doors able to fit nearly five people inside and adorned with lavish gold handles.  It was, however, mostly empty as Ginny didn't have too many clothes to store.  She unlatched the handles and swung it open, and gasped.

          The shimmery sapphire material of the magnificent ball gown from Kathryn's sparkled up at her.

          "Oh Gods," She breathed, unhooking the dress from its hanger and pulling it out.  It was every bit as spectacular as she'd remembered, and holding it in her arms, knowing that it was hers filled her with an overwhelming joy.  There was a small note attached to the tag, and she pulled it off, immediately recognizing it as similar to the one she'd gotten at Gringotts two days ago.

                    Weasel—

                             Didn't think it would look right on anyone else.

          And that was it.  No signature, no D.Malfoy this time, but Ginny knew that it had to be from Draco.  He was, after all, the only one besides Kathryn who'd seen the dress and the chance of Kathryn sending it to her was like believing Voldemort was really a good person.

          She sighed. 

          Draco.

~*~

          "Happy birthday, Gin!" Ron shouted the moment Ginny stepped inside.  She was surrounded with hugging arms and loving shouts, as if she hadn't returned in centuries and not days.

          She met Harry's eyes questioningly from the middle of Ron's arms, and he shook his head.  "Not yet," he mouthed.

Before she could question him further, Hermione had rushed forward.  She swayed a little nervously before she enveloped Ginny in a hug, obviously worried that she was treading in deep water after the outburst Ginny had left imprinted on her. 

          With a reassuring smile, Ginny whispered into her ear, "Harry and I talked."

          Hermione seemed to understand.  Her brown eyes lit up and she exclaimed proudly, "Ooh, Gin, I bought the best present ever!"

          It took nearly twenty minutes for the din to die down, and most of her guests flooded into the crowded kitchen for a glimpse of whatever treats Molly Weasley had prepared.  It was a rather pleasant birthday, in fact, and when Ginny opened her presents she was in a surprisingly gracious mood.  She really didn't need anything for her birthday, and just recalling the fact that she owned the marvelous dress was enough to put a smile on her face as she opened Seamus's hideous crotcheted sweater.

          Most of her presents she actually liked, including a lovely red patterned scarf from Hermione.  She was sitting quite pleasedly in the midst of her gifts when Molly and Arther Weasley entered, grave expressions on their face.  "What is it, Mum?" Ginny asked immediately, concerned.

They exchanged glances, and Arthur nodded.  "Ginny, darling," Molly began, sitting down next to her, "Have you ever heard of Louis XIV?  He was a muggle king, king of France back in the seventeenth century, and better known as the Sun King."

Ginny frowned, surprised that she'd be receiving a lecture on muggle history.  "I think so," she said.  For some reason, she had the feeling the rest of her brothers had heard this tale before.

"Well," Molly continued, "He had many, many mistresses, one of those men that were never content with what they had.  His last mistress, however, who he married after his wife's death, was a witch by the name of Francoise D'Aubigne.  Now, she was a governess to his children, and she loved him dearly but the Sun King was known for his infedelity, and she couldn't believed that he truly loved her; she was in fact his mistress for seventeen years before they married."

"That's nice," Ginny wrinkled her nose, "But I don't get why you're telling me this."

"Shush," Ron ordered.  "You'll get it."

Molly beamed.  "Well, naturally, he had to prove his love for her," Molly went on.  "Louis had this fetish for rubies, and he had this one large ruby that was known as 'Le Feu du Soleil.'"

"The Fire of the Sun," Arthur supplied.  "It was one of the brightest jewels of all time.  There was even a rumor that when the sun rose, the stone would gleam and the room in which it was kept would turn red."

"Exactly.  He had this ruby cut into seventeen smaller rubies, each one in a different shape, one for each year they had been together.  They were each fastened into a ring and adorned with diamonds and—"

"Mum," Ginny said politely, "I still don't understand how this has to do with me."

Molly sighed, gazing at her husband briefly.  "I'll just tell you," she said.  "Francoise was your ancestor, shunned from society from falling in love with a muggle.  Though she was rich, her family in the wizarding world was doomed to be poor, and when Louis died she presented gave four of the rings to each of her four siblings, leaving her one to keep.  Most of the families sold them to survive, but luckily for you, the one she kept was never given away."

The purpose of Molly's story began to take shape in Ginny's mind, but it left her doubts.  And then Arthur came forward, revealing from his pocket a small, bejeweled box.  Ron's face was nearly as priceless when she unwrapped the jewelry, and he exclaimed, "Why does she get the ring?"

Ginny giggled at his indignance, and opened the ringbox.  It was more lavish than anything she'd ever seen in her parents' possession before, the iridescent silver shining in the warm afternoon light.  The stone was a multi-faceted ruby cut in the distinct shape of a heart and offset by two glittering diamonds, and everyone around her drew in their breaths.  She turned to her parents, wide-eyed.  "It's beautiful," was all she could say.

"I wanted to wait for your time," Molly explained.  "I wanted to see if you were suitable to be the keeper of this ring.  This ring is a symbol of love in its purest form."

          "And its worth a lot," Ron added, sulking a little.

          "My mother gave me this ring," Arthur boomed.  "I wore it on a chain every day of my adolescent life until I met Mol—your mother.  I knew she was the one, and a year before I proposed to her I gave her this ring, to cherish and to keep, and now its your turn to have the ring."

          "Shouldn't the ring be given to a son, then?" Ron persisted, earning a disapproving look from Hermione.

          Molly laughed.  "Ronald, I thought Ginny would appreciate this ring out of everyone else because she's such a romantic."  She paused, smiling lovingly at her daughter.  "And I know she'll take good care of it."

          Ginny slipped the ring onto her fourth finger.  "It's beautiful," she echoed, unable to make another comment.

          This was turning out to be a very good birthday indeed.

~*~

"Bye, Colin."

Ginny shut the door and sank down onto a chair.  It had been a long, exhausting party, fun-filled of course, but she was rather glad it was over.  All she wanted to do was fly back to Malfoy Manor and sleep.  She played with her ring absent-mindedly, the red glowing bright in the lighted room.  But Draco isn't going to be there, she reminded herself dimly, and closed her eyes.  He was so damn confusing, first being rude to her and then sending her that beautiful dress. . .

"Wild party, eh?" Harry's voice interrupted her thoughts.

She sat up immediately, focusing on Harry and what she'd been meaning to say the entire evening.  "You haven't told him?" She hissed.  "What the hell, Harry?"

          "Calm down," He winced, looking very regretful that he'd spoken to her. "You and I just talked two days ago."

          "Two days!" Ginny shrieked.  "That's forty-eight hours!  That's 2,880 minutes!"

          "It hasn't been the right time yet," Harry said feebly.

          "Right time my arse," Ginny huffed.  "You know, you're going to have to tell Ron about what happened with Hermione someday."  Harry's eyes suddenly rounded like two green saucers, and she turned around to see what had alarmed him.

          "Tell me what?" Ron asked.              

~*~

          "And that's all that happened, I swear," Harry finished.  He was sitting nervously in the middle of the Weasley living room, cross-legged beside Ginny.  Hermione, who had been seated near Ron, had inched away uncomfortably and was now staring blankly into the fireplace.

          Ron was silent.  He was taking it rather well, Ginny noted, despite the obvious redness in the face.  His temper was still intact, and so were the things around him.  "Were you ever going to tell me?" He demanded in a low voice, ringed with deathly anger."

          "Of course," Hermione blinked back tears plaintively as she turned her neck.  "Ron, you have to believe me, I never wanted to hurt you I-I love you."

          "Did you love me when you were snogging my best friend?" Ron leapt to his feet, turning a shade so scarlet his freckles were barely visible.

          "It wasn't a snog!" Hermione cried.  She bloody well knew how serious things were as she gazed at Ron, livid and raging throughout the room.  "It was a kiss, a small peck, and—"

          "And what, Hermione?" Ron said sarcastically.  "You were 'thinking' of me the entire time?"

          "Well," she sputtered, "I was.  I mean, I love you Ron.  And there was no entire time, the damn thing lasted like a second!"

          "She's right, you know," Harry supported.

          "Oh you sod off, Potter," Ron seethed.  "I don't even want to talk to you right now, you, you girlfriend-kisser you."

          Ginny leapt in.  "Ron, listen to me, just let it go."

          He narrowed his eyes at his younger sister.  "If you weren't family and if it wasn't your birthday, I swear to Merlin that I'd—"

          "Ron," Ginny rose her voice.  "Hermione loves you, give her a chance, won't you?"

          He fell silent, turning to Hermione who was gazing up at him with wounded eyes.  "You don't understand," he said in a strangled voice, more to Hermione than Ginny.  "Herm and Harry were together for so long, its not-it's not your normal love triangle."

          "Ron, there is no love triangle," Hermione insisted.  "I love you, and only you, and Harry knows that."

          He gazed down at her, and then at Harry.  "Do you still love her?" He asked.

          Harry's mouth opened and closed like a giant fish, and he darted nervously between Ginny, Ron and Hermione.  "No," he finally answered, and the two ladies in the room let out a collective breath of relief.

          "Ron," Hermione ventured, tucking an arm through his elbow.  "I just wanted this out the open, so there'd be no secrets between us.  Can you—can you ever forgive me?"

          He let out a sigh, tucking a strand of her unruly hair behind her ear and pressing his lips to hers gently.  "What's to forgive," he said with a smile.  He grew serious and he added, "But that doesn't mean I'm going to condone it if you do it again.  In fact, it better not happen again."

          Hermione squealed in delight, tossing her arms around his neck, and declared, "I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you, Ron.  I'm just so glad this is all over."

          He disentangled himself, remembering the other two people there around them, and feeling undoubtedly guilty for creating such a scene. "I'm sorry," Ron apologized, drawing Ginny in for an embrace.  "I'm a terrible brother, I just completely ruined your birthday."

          Ginny smiled into his shirt, thinking about the gown Draco had given her, the meticulously crafted ring on her finger, and whispered softly, "On the contrary, this has been the best birthday ever."

~*~

          This time, Ginny made sure to retreat straight to the servant quarters.  She was not getting lost again, no way, no how.  Part of her couldn't be more excited to see the dress again, just to make sure that it was real and that it had really been there instead of some wonderful dream.

          She nearly skipped down the hall.  The only present she'd brought back with her was the ring, and she hadn't many packages to bear.  She never failed to delight in its intricate design, and she'd promised her entire family that it would never leave her finger.

The party was growing nearer, in nearly two weeks, she thought.  Ginny couldn't help but wonder whether Malfoy would be home by then.  A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she panicked as she imagined Draco transferring to Durmstrang.  If he liked it enough there, a patronizing voice in her head teased.  Ginny shook her head, putting him out of her mind as she made a beeline for her room.  But as she passed the den, a flash of white-blond hair caught her eye, and she stopped, peering into the room.

          Her heart thudded.  Ginny could've sworn it skipped a beat, because Draco Malfoy, who was supposed to be in Sweden, was most definitely reclining in his leather chair, a book in hand.  The bandage was gone from his nose, leaving his face once again flawless; she presumed that Narcissa had taken care of it. 

His eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he read and she wanted to speak to him, but was rooted to the ground, admiring the simple grace he exhibited in just turning a page.  Almost subconsciously, Ginny shuffled forward.

          His head snapped up.  "Who's there?" he demanded.

          "Malfoy?" she ventured softly, stepping into the light.

          He relaxed visibly.  "Weasley.  What are you doing here?"

          "I should ask you the same," she returned, tilting her head at him. 

He frowned at her.  "Well, it is my study," he began slowly, "And I'm reading.  In my study.  Which, if you've forgotten, is in my house."

Ginny almost made a deragotary comment about his ability to read, but then remembered that he'd probably be Head Boy next year.  Shaking her head, she reminded, "Sweden?"

          "How did you know about that?" Draco said, torn between acting malignant and his own curiosity.

          "Adrienne told me," She replied matter-of-factly.  "So why aren't you there?"

          He shrugged.  "Time is valuble," he remarked with a crooked grin.  "There are some things higher on my list than visit some half-baked relative in Sweden."

          "Such as?"  Her voice was lilting, daring and hopeful all the same.

          He measured her carefully, his mind calculating something she couldn't exactly place.  "Such as the muggle party Mother is making me observe," he said finally, and she felt an onslaught of disappointment overwhelm her.  She didn't exactly know what she'd wanted him to say, but that was certainly not it.

          "Oh."

          Draco returned to his book.  "You should go now," he said, not looking up.  There was no reply, and when he did glance up she was no longer in front of him.  Funny, he thought, I didn't hear her leave.

          "Malfoy," her voice came from beside him.

          He almost jumped, but regained his composure quickly and instead took to staring at her blankly.  "What."  His voice wasn't exactly warm and welcoming, but it lacked the sharp anger he usually spoke to her with.

          "I wanted to, you know," Ginny paused.  "Thank you.  I love it."

          He narrowed his eyes at her.  "What makes you think the dress was from me?" He asked flatly.

          "Well for one, you wouldn't have known about it otherwise," Ginny pointed out wryly.  Then she relaxed, a small smile appearing at the corners of her lips.  "And anyways," she added softly, "Nobody else calls me Weasel."

          He slouched a little, losing a touch of that cold exterior as he half-smirked, half-grinned at her.  "Well, I figured you'd want it" Draco replied, "and Merlin knows that Potter can't afford it."

"I did want it," Ginny said in the same small voice, willing to let the last Harry comment slide, "but it meant a lot more . . . coming from you."  He raised his head and met her chocolate eyes questioningly.  Gently, Ginny covered his hand with hers, and with a sudden gust of courage, she added quietly, "Draco."

She expected him to jerk away and make some half-witted remark in an attempt to belittle her.  Instead, however, Draco turned over his palm and, slowly lacing his long fingers through hers, lightly, but surely, squeezed.  It wasn't a promise, nor an invitation, nor even an acknowledgement.

But for some reason, it meant the world to her.

He tugged slightly on her hand.  Ginny stepped a little closer, his hazy gray gaze scrutinizing her every move until she was right before him, their faces just inches apart.  Somewhere in the midst of it he got up from the chair, and for a few seconds they stood silent, each wanting something, anything to happen but each afraid of the consequences.

Then suddenly, Draco brought his face down and briefly brushed his lips against hers.  "Happy birthday," he murmured, tenderly placing a finger under her chin and easing her head up to look at him.  He scanned her sparkling brown eyes for a moment, a warm feeling settling within him as a dreamy half-smile appeared on her face. 

Releasing her hand, he moved past her and out the door, leaving her alone in his study with a large, stupid grin upon her face.

~End of Chapter 13

A/N* There!  That is definitely NOT a cliffie, right?  Ah, so many people commented about Draco's slowness in the last chapter.  But the way I figure it is, maybe he doesn't want to come to terms with what's going on?  Haha and sorry to mislead those who thought chapter 13 would continue right off of chapter 12. . .

In case you're wondering, everything about Louis XIV and his mistress/wife Francoise was true, minus of course the actual ring part.  But the dates are correct, both of them did exist.

AraelMoonchild ~ No, the story of their romance ends as their summer does, as I couldn't really call my story Indentured Servitude if she didn't work for him anymore.  BUT!  If there's a sequel, which my betas/muses and I are currently contemplating, it would take place during the school year.  Liz ~ I completely agree.  To hell with Hermione.  Cyn ~ Ah, but then things would be easy for our favorite couple, wouldn't they?  Chibi-Chibi Chan ~ Ooh good point I can see where you're coming from, but Adrienne's supposed to be a couple years older than Draco and Ginny, like in her mid-twenties.  And may I say, you're an amazing reviewer.  Very good inspiration for my writers block.  ^_^

And my, you people have been good with the reviews lately.  Do keep it up