She had come far too soon. They knew it, she had known it. But a house of a mess and destruction did not matter to her---for the manor was five times as large as the Burrow's only two bathrooms combined, and the way Narcissa had thought to put vases by the window---colored vases, rose-hued vases to sparkle at her as she entered felt so gracious, like a tug at her chest, pulling into her a forbidden warmth. There were no house-elves left, and Narcissa stepped down the staircase, the large, steep staircase, wearing a dress that seemed to cover her full height, with her beautiful hair pulled up and covered in ringlets over her pale, sunken face. Her hair might've been glowering the word Malfoy, but the vacant arm missing jewels and necklaces showed that there inside a Malfoy never lived. Her face was no longer remotely pretty or attractive, there was no makeup, and even more makeup would make it horrible, worse.

"Ginny?" she asked, not knowing. Oh, how Ginny would love not to know. How Ginny would love to say, 'Ginny's not here.' But as she picked up her only bag, the bag that imprinted 'W' on the front that she had insisted to knit when she was ten, she stepped toward Narcissa in the manner a lady should, and bowed.

"Oh, dear," Narcissa wrinkled her nose disgustedly. "We must do something about your clothes. And your hair. Come, come." She wriggling a finger as she gracefully walked up the steps in tiny little footsteps that Ginny could barely hear---she found this an accomplishment, as when Ginny looked down, Narcissa's heels were pointed and sharp like knives, and could cut the carpet that lay on the marble staircase in half---but surprisingly, it did not.

***

The room was dusty, she noticed. It must have been locked for a long time to be as dusty as this. It was quite larger than her former room, but oh how it smelled of something horrid---like expensive perfume had been sprayed far too strongly. She did not want to tell this to Narcissa and prayed that the look on her face was quite grateful. "Thank you for this," she said, as she had sad many a time.

Narcissa did not respond. As if thank you was a revolting swear word, she bowed herself out of the room, insisting that Ginny need some rest, although Ginny knew that Narcissa left because of the smell---she sighed and sat down at the corner of her bed. Everything was white here. Even the dresser was white. The walls, the ceilings, the bedsheets of the beds, and the floor had no carpet, so her feet were prone to the cold that surrounded it in it's tile. She gazed out the window, and saw that she was at a part of the mansion that could not be seen---the back part. What shocked her was the balcony. It was the utmost gorgeous thing she had ever seen. She fell in love with it at the first sighting, and she opened the glass windows and stepped out clumsily, but did not scorn at her messiness, for holding onto the end bars of it had become a part of a dream. She smelled roses in the garden, and the awful perfume smell went away. The world felt green and alive at the balcony, a small little white thing that she lay her bare feet on once her shoes were off.

She did not know where to sit. The balcony was cleaned by the recent rain but she still did not know. She looked over and saw another balcony and was startled to see it was occupied.

The man was smoking, his long, pale fingers holding onto the drug as if it could clench him, and letting out the air. He did not feel her staring, so she continued to do so. He was wearing a long cloak tied around him to protect him from the cold, and his hair was like a white silver, shining in the sunlight. His hands were turning red and he stuffed them in his pockets, throwing the drug away and stomping at his foot with it in one, easy swift movement with the heel of his boot. He seemed to be watching the garden, gazing at it in space, the garden below him. He licked his lips and Ginny foresaw his name---it came to her like an instant, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa's son, Slytherin, eighteen years of age.

She clutched her ragged dress around her, trying not to shiver but clattering her teeth, for resistance shook her. The dress was one of the only dresses she had left---it was ripped at the end but it was green and mother had loved it the most. Mum, she thought, loved it the most. She caught her breath and shook everything off. Do not think about anything or you will die, she told herself furiously.

Her shawl was the only thing to protect her neck, and she wanted to abandon it the instant she turned around---and saw the windows closed.

She tried to open them but her fingers hurt and scratched from trying. She cried out in frustration, false remembering nobody was there.

But there was someone there, only a few feet away, at another balcony.

"You," the cold voice snapped. "Are not allowed to go outside."

Ginny was so embarrassed she had an intention of ignoring it---until the window raised two inches---she looked over at Malfoy, waiting to show him her triumph---until the window suddenly, sharply fell down on her fingers.

***