Draco could never be sure what he saw in a faded flower like Ginny… the grown woman's head was so filled full of childish notions and fantasies that it became near impossible for her to believe in reality. Every time he saw her, she grew more delirious until, close to the end, she could barely recognize her own reflection. He presumed it was because the Consumption had left her nothing else to cling to… even the certainty of waking up tomorrow had been stolen from her sickly pale fingers.

It had started out as community service. A careless mistake had forced him into 20 hours by court order in the Sacred Heart Hospital of Lancaster, and at the time, Ginny had seemed the friendliest (albeit quietest) woman on the ward he'd been directed to. She'd simply smiled weakly at him, acknowledging a trapped soul identical to her own, and caught his favour immediately.

"Read to me?" she'd whispered, sounding amazed at the prospect. Ginny looked oddly pretty as bewilderment crossed her milky features, and twice as beautiful when she smiled a sort of timid grin… as a rabbit would smile at a fox. "… Do you know a story called 'Cinderella?'"

He didn't, but soon found that she had every fairy tale ever dreamed in print, either in books or in her own scrawled handwriting. Ginny would never tire of hearing the same stories over and over… at times she'd ask Draco to retell Cinderella once more… she wanted every detail perfect inside her head. He'd never asked her why, but nurses had smiled wistfully and muttered that it was an escape.

Once she'd fallen asleep, he'd pull the sterilized sheets and blankets around her, tuck her in and leave the books and manuscripts by her bedside… yet every morning, though he'd always leave her painstakingly perfectly re-written 'Cinderella' on the bedside locker, nurses would give him odd looks and ask him why he'd put it under her pillow. After a while, he began to actually keep it separate and push it into her hand before he left to save her the trouble of searching for it in the night.

He didn't know why he never told her that his 20 hours were up, even after he kept coming. Draco supposed that deep down she knew, or that he was just compensating for not understanding himself why he kept reading to her. It was the look on her face as she drifted into her own narcotic and fantasy enhanced world, or the weak laughter when he would say "Let me guess? Could you possibly want to hear Cinderella?"

That was why he blocked out the blood. Sprinkled on her bed-sheets, staining tissues and handkerchiefs that infested her bed. Her face would contort with pain, and her entire body would cough. He would try to ignore the dragging sounds and bitter tears that stung her crimson stained mouth. He'd never known her when she was healthy, and tried to tell himself that she could have always been like that.

It was a shock to hear she'd died, though she was only the ghost of a woman in the days before… but what struck him hard was that she was only a year younger. She'd suffered that long in her short life. No wonder she'd needed those fairy tales to tear apart reality. No wonder she'd had to create her own world.

She'd died a year ago. He hadn't forgotten her, though, that was impossible. Especially as one nurse who'd grown fond of him had handed him a crumpled manuscript on his last visit, said she'd been holding it when she'd had her last fit, explained that she would have wanted him to have it. It was Cinderella.

Draco hadn't had the nerve to throw it away. In fact, it had found a permanent place in his shirt pocket… it was the only thing he had to remind him of the auburn hair he teased her about, of her cinnamon freckles and milky skin… the only physical thing. His hand always moved compulsively to that pocket whenever he passed a hospital, and an overwhelming wave of nauseating terror would crash over him.

A year ago, today… Draco stared furiously at the floor as careless dancers giggled nervously as they crushed their partners toes and twirled around the crowded ballroom. The colours of the ladies dresses were too bright to be properly seen under the candlelight, but dark crimsons, scarlets and wines screamed over the others for his attention. His chilly grey eyes didn't give them the satisfaction, and instead concentrated on the dark lines separating the tiles.

She would have liked this, said one wistful part of him. As silvery grey hair fell over his eyes, the part of him that wanted to let go replied Good for her, who cares? Bitterly. Draco agreed with both. Her fantasies would have conjured up images like this. Ball gowns and glass slippers and closeness and the mysterious romance of dancing with someone you'd never met before.

He found his view blurred, but could make out something blocking the terracotta tiles. A foot. No, a shoe. A glass slipper, to be precise. Oh god, and the bottom of a scarlet dress. Draco took a shaky breath in, looking right through the girl who'd hazarded taking pity on a seemingly depressed wallflower.

"Dance with me?" asked a timid voice as a small hand touched his arm. He refused to look at her, as if her mere presence was an insult to him, staring still right through her to the crowd beyond. He could have come up with something cutting and sarcastic, but supposed it wasn't her fault she'd chosen to talk to him. Instead, he put up a cold front to push her away, fixing her with a cool glare.

"No, I won't," he couldn't even see her face.

"Come on!" the girl in the scarlet dress gripped his arm surprisingly tightly, and hauled him right out of the chair. He'd been too astounded to even resist her, nearly stumbling as she smiled and grabbed his hand. A slow dance struck up from the orchestra, and Draco fought the urge to shove the girl away. A feeling of nausea spread through him as she wrapped her arms around his chest, smiling innocently.

It wasn't right. In fact, it was all wrong. She had a haunting quality of being familiar, and yet not… she was acting as if she knew him, and supposed she must be drunk by the way her footing was awkward and slightly weak. Draco noticed the odd stares he was receiving and felt as though he'd whipped around and was giving himself a disapproving, scrutinizing look along with the others… but those looks weren't disapproving. Confused, probably. Amazed, certainly.

He felt his toes jab the floor, and looked down with an increasing sensation of sickness. His feet weren't touching the floor unless he stretched on tiptoe, and with a ragged breath, he whispered harshly to his partner's ear "Who the hell are you?"

"Don't you recognize Cinderella when you see her?" was a delirious whispered reply. Draco suppressed a gasp of surprise as she pulled back the hair covering her eyes and nose, wondering how he'd never noticed. Auburn hair, as though someone had rubbed ketchup into it. Brown eyes that no longer stared from another world set in a freckled face. Creamy skin that showed no sign of ill health.

"… Ginny?" he murmured, squeezing her gently. He couldn't stop staring.

"Until midnight, Prince Charming, I'm yours. So quit staring," she replied in a low voice, nudging him gently. He found the floor had made a comeback under his feet, and felt glad for it. Feeling dizzy, Draco kissed her forehead.

"I couldn't help but see you among the others. They pale in comparison, my lady. Are you a princess, or a goddess?" he quoted Cinderella in a hushed voice as she tucked her head under his chin, swaying gently in time with the music. Her crimson dress swept the floor and made small ruffling sounds, but for the two it seemed the world around them was just passing on by.

One song melted into another and dances changed but Draco never changed partners. His hands never left Ginny's, his eyes never left hers, but still he noticed the subtle signs of illness creeping through. After the first hour, her breathing was more forced than before. By the second, her skin began to sink to its former pallor and her voice grew fainter as she talked about anything and everything. At the end of the third, her babble had died in her throat, replaced by tiny subtle coughs into his neck. She was dragging herself on her feet.

Nearing the end of the fourth hour, she looked up to him with fierce intensity he'd never seen before. Without a single word to explain herself, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his in a clumsy kiss. At first, she pressed to hard, and ended too soft, a blush staining her now white skin as she pulled away. Her hands clung with barely mustered strength to the front of his shirt.

The ferocity in her eyes ebbed away, replaced with the fear of a fawn. Behind them, the clock struck a twelfth and final bell… odd, he hadn't noticed it chiming in the first place. All his senses heightened now, warmth spreading up his fingers and hands. Just like a summer breeze, she breathed once and disappeared to nothing.

His hand travelled impulsively to his left pocket, taking the crumpled paper from inside and unfolding it. Five pages, with a word on each. Until Midnight, I'm Yours. Goodbye. Draco stared at those words with such intensity, and smiled as his eyes began to sting.

"Goodbye, Cinderella," he whispered to the crowd.