Ginny didn't seem to be intimidated in the least by Draco Malfoy, which intrigued him almost as much as it irritated him. He'd begun following her around, trying to learn her schedule so he'd be able to "strategically appear" in her usual haunts. The only problem was that she had no usual haunts, and no set routine to speak of. At present, she was leisurely browsing through the aisles of one of the shiftier stores in Knockturn Alley.

Draco had been supremely astonished when she'd turned onto the notorious street, and wondered briefly if she'd done it simply because she'd seen him following her. He'd quickly dismissed that suspicion when the shopkeeper had addressed her by her first name.

He watched as she carefully selected a new brass bowl, then handed it to the clerk, who stored it behind the counter for her. Ginny moved down an aisle full of different colored wax- some came in blocks, some came in tapers (like candles), and some came in ball form.

Draco watched, fascinated, as she selected several large balls of dark green wax. After moving back to the counter and speaking in hushed tones to the clerk, Ginny turned and looked directly at Draco. He shivered and returned her gaze, not attempting to hide the fact that he was watching her.

She waited as the clerk retrieved a second brass bowl from the aisles, one that was identical to the one she'd chosen earlier herself. She rang up the redhead's purchases, and Draco boggled at the amount of money she plunked down onto the counter. Where had a Weasley come by that amount of money?

She ignored his presence as she left the store clutching her purchases. He wondered vaguely why she hadn't confronted him about watching her yet. He stayed behind her as she walked down the alleyway and rounded a corner. When he approached the same corner, a hand reached out and grabbed him.

A split second after he was accosted, he felt a tugging sensation behind his navel, indicating that he was being transported somewhere via portkey. He didn't panic or struggle; it was not uncommon for one of his father's friends to retrieve him when he stayed gone too long for his father's tastes.

Therefore he was utterly surprised when he found himself inside a small candlelit room, face to face with Ginny Weasley.

"What in the bloody hell-" he started angrily. She ignored him and began unwrapping her purchases. When it became clear to him that she had no intentions of speaking to him until she was ready to, he began to take in his surroundings.

The room she'd brought him to was a small one, but tidy and immaculately clean. He ran a finger along a shelf, and when he inspected his finger, there was no trace of dirt to be seen. He turned and looked behind him, only mildly surprised to see what must have been her bed pushed against the far wall. He smirked to himself; she might call it a bed, but it looked like a sofa to him. He turned back to her when he heard her whispering.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, adjusting one of the new brass bowls over crackling blue flames. The look of concentration on her face was amazing, and Draco thought he'd never seen anything like it before. He leaned back against the wall and watched with growing curiosity as she unwrapped a ball of the wax she'd purchased, then dropped it into the bowl.

"What are you doing, Weasley?" he asked, not bothering to hide the curiosity in his voice. She glanced up at him, then looked back down at the wax, which was beginning to melt. She stirred it gently with the end of her wand.

"You've been following me," she said simply. He blinked.

"And why would you think that?" he sneered.

"Because you have," she shrugged. "You've been following me for almost two weeks now. If you're so interested in what I'm doing, you should've just said so, instead of making me lead you around on a wild goose chase." He stared at her in disbelief.

What she didn't tell him was that on the second or third day that he'd been following her, she'd started thinking. She thought about him, and she thought about how his life had turned out. He was surely a Death Eater like his father, which meant that he was most likely limited to the company of other Death Eaters.

Then she'd started thinking about the people that he'd been friends with at school. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle – possibly the two biggest idiots that had ever had the nerve to pass through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts – had been his best friends. If they were Death Eaters, she thought, then perhaps he could use a spot of intelligent conversation every now and then.

This thought had ultimately reminded her of her last name, which reminded her how very much he probably hated her. Then she thought back to the change that had come over his features as he'd sat at that little table with her, and she knew that he had probably been contemplating some way to use her in order to get closer to Harry. So what then would be the harm if she used his deceit to her advantage and countered it with some of her own? She'd pretend to go along with him, and in the meantime, he'd pretend to be her friend.

Right now, more than anything, she needed someone to acknowledge her existence, even if it was only feigned interest.

He folded his arms over his chest and stared at her.

"What makes you think it's you that I'm interested in?"

"I don't think it's me," she answered, opening a bottle of water. He watched as she poured it into the empty brass bowl on the floor. "You're interested in what information I have to offer."

"And you brought me here to give me this information, is that it?" he asked, eyeing her appraisingly. He'd clearly underestimated her; she held no illusions as to why he was still here.

"Of course not," she said disdainfully, reaching for a pair of gloves. Upon closer inspection, he was surprised to see that they were made of fine dragon hide. She slid the gloves on and picked up a ladle, dipping it into the bowl that held the melted wax. He watched as she poured the ladle's contents into the bowl of cool water. She put the ladle down, then removed the gloves. It was only when she bent over the bowl of water and peered inside that he realized what she was doing.

He gave a laugh of disbelief and raised his eyebrows at her. She shot him an annoyed look before concentrating on the bowl again.

"Tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing," he laughed, moving closer to her.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she murmured distractedly, still focused on the bowl.

"Weasley, Ceromancy has been dead for decades! It's totally obsolete!" she arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. "Where did you learn it from, anyway? They don't teach that at Hogwarts anymore." He bent over and peered into the bowl.

"I taught myself," she explained. "Even if it is obsolete, it's been quite helpful to me."

"And how is that?"

"See this here?" she asked, pointing to a lump of wax floating near the side of the bowl. He nodded, skepticism etched all over his face. "What would you say it looks like?"

"Come on, Weasley," he scoffed.

"No, really. Just tell me what you think it looks like." He shrugged.

"It's a question mark." His intonation plainly told her that he thought this entire thing was stupid. She surprised him by giving him a small smile.

"Good. Do you know what question marks mean?"

"No," he sniffed, trying to pretend that he wasn't interested.

"Use the same interpretation you'd use if you were reading tea leaves."

"I don't know how to read tea leaves," he snorted.

"You didn't study Divination?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he sneered. "A Malfoy, study Divination? That class was strictly reserved for flakes." She shrugged.

"What about that piece?" she asked, pointing to the second lump of wax. He rolled his eyes, but peered inside the bowl anyway. He squinted at it.

"A circle." She frowned.

"I'd say it was a ring." He stared at her as she fished the pieces of hardened wax from the water, then tossed them into the trash can.

"The last time I checked, a ring and a circle were the same thing, Weasley."

"Normally, yes," she agreed, dumping the water out. "But in any sort of Divination, no." She proceeded to clean both bowls out by hand.

"Why don't you just Scourgify them?"

"Honestly, Malfoy," she scolded, drying the bowls with a soft towel. "I would think you'd know why. Using magic on the bowl might interfere with the Ceromancy." She placed the dried bowls gingerly on a shelf lined with black velvet, then placed the unused balls of wax on another shelf. He noted that the shelf was full of different colors of wax balls.

He gave her an odd look. "Why did you buy wax, when you already have more than enough here?"

"I didn't have this particular shade of green."

"So?"

"So it's best to use a color that you closely associate with the person you're reading for – or about," she added, giving him a pointed look. She pushed the door of the tiny room open, and he followed her into the meager sitting room.

Why had she been foolhardy enough to bring him here? Surely she realized that whenever he left, he could tell any number of the wrong sort of people where she lived, or he could now set up some kind of surveillance on her home. Before he could elaborate further, her words sank in. He moved into the kitchen, where she was making a pot of chocolate.

"Did you say you were reading for someone?" he asked. She didn't look up; she merely nodded. "And I am assuming that since the color was Slytherin green, you were reading for me?"

"Don't be so egotistical," she laughed, shaking her head. "Not everything is about you."

"Who, then?"

"Your father." He blinked several times in surprise.

"My father?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to."

"And what did you see?"

"You tell me," she shrugged, stirring the liquid. "You're the one who saw the signs." He frowned and gave her a harsh look.

"I've had enough of this freak show," he snapped. "Just tell me."

"The ring means marriage. There is a marriage somewhere in your father's future." He laughed at her.

"My father is already married, which proves even further that Ceromancy is a waste of time." She put down the spoon she'd been stirring with and stared at him.

"I didn't say it was his marriage," she said, folding her arms across her chest. He blinked.

"What if it wasn't a ring? What if it was just a circle?"

"Then I wouldn't look for a marriage, I'd look for a reconciliation of some sort," she shrugged. He blinked, then shook his head.

"Right," he snorted. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at him.

"I'll make you a bet, Malfoy. I'm so sure of my Ceromantic abilities that I know it was a ring, and I know there's a wedding in your father's near future that I'd be willing to bet against you."

"A wager?" he asked, his interest immediately sparked. Draco was never one to pass up a chance to win at something, and this time was no exception. "And what exactly would you want from me?"

"You can take me to the wedding," she said simply. "As your date." His jaw dropped slightly, and he stared at her for a full minute, before recovering.

"Well, I'm so sure that your Ceromantic abilities are a joke that I'll agree to it," he said smoothly. "And when I win, I want you to take me along to your next meeting with Potter and his friends." He waited for her to say no, but to his surprise, she smiled and held her hand out.

"It's a deal, then."