The Sense

by jane-valar

Some say it's a gift. She thinks it's a curse. Draco has an important piece of art that could help his ill mother. How far will he go to save her? More important what does Ginny have to do with it.

9. Chapter IX: Dances, Dreams, and Dangerou

A/N: I know it's been too long since I updated and I apologize. I'm sorry.

Dedicated to: Tegan, (Thank you for your awesome editing skills. I cherished every blue- word, correction, and suggestion. I think you took my work and made it the best it could be.) VirtualFaerie,(Thank you for your kindness, and patience, and the time you've dedicated to this story and my whiny e-mails. It really does mean more than I say.) and Blazefury ( "My Smut Princess" You didn't get a chance to beta this one, but I thought you deserved one anyway. You've always said nice things and your just too clever not to get a thankyou. *Patiently awaits Smut.* ) You are all wonderfully talented authors who have helped me get these stupid, grammatically incorrect, misspelled, makes no since, chapters out. And for that I Thank You.

Chapter IX: Dances, Dreams, and Dangerous Dragons or (What wouldn't I do to Ron Weasley?)

Ginny let her forehead fall to the folder on her desk. She had failed miserably at getting any sleep. Her night had been filled with tossing and turning, while visions of Draco and his mother floated around in her mind.

Had you asked Ginny two months ago, if a suffering Draco Malfoy would have troubled her, she would have replied that whatever happened he likely deserved it. But the exposed pained easily seen on his handsome face as he sat hiding like a child in the shadow of a high-backed chair; his eyes full of sadness as they watched his mother; more than made her heart ache. His overwhelming feelings of helplessness and despair were still as fresh in her senses as the first day she had touched his mother's money purse and received the vision. No one deserved to go through such an awful affair, not even Draco.

She spent the last few days fighting with herself about Draco's intentions. If finding the map was solely for his mother's benefit, then she should feel guilt for not wanting to help him. But if his objectives leaned towards more sinister things, then she should feel guilt for not telling Ron sooner, for not swallowing her anger and staying to investigate him further.

Draco Malfoy conquering the world and rising up to be the next all powerful Dark Lord, she laughed heartily to herself for thinking it. How melodramatic was that?

Unfortunately, her feelings tilted toward the former.

"Ugh," she groaned, internally. How had he done it, again? How had he carelessly insulted her, but somehow turned her into the guilt-filled party?

But she couldn't give into her weakness. She would have to live with the guilt of not helping him. She knew she could; she lived with unyielding guilt now. It never failed, that tiny twinge of regret she felt every time she was in the company of Colin, Hermione, or even her sister-in-law Penelope. Memories of their youthful bodies laying dormant in the Hospital wing because of a mistake she had made with a diary. However, she had never Apparated to a small town outside Colin or Hermione's house only to Apparate home, again. She had never annoyed Colin or Hermione's well tempered chauffeur to the point of being threatened (Miss. Weasley if you'd like to go to the Manor, I'll gladly bring ya', but if you keep popping in every hour, I'm going to have to owl Mr. Malfoy.) She had never gotten Holly to distract Richard in Classifieds, so she could illegally borrow Colin or Hermione's file

Against everything she feared, she still wanted to help Draco, but she couldn't excuse what he had so heartlessly said.

"My mother's fine," he had growled. "How's yours? Still dead I presume or have there been any new developments?"

His careless stance and smooth tactless voice from that evening were perfectly imprinted in her memory. But contended with the warm recollection she had of him relaxing behind his desk a sly childlike grin on his handsome face from a clever joke she had told him.

Realizing that while in her current state of exhausted, dwelling on the situation was a futile effort, Ginny tried to rid herself of all thoughts. As her mind cleared, the words on the paper in front of her became blurred, and her eyelids became heavy, dropping as she surrendered to her fatigue. The sweet hum of Holly's voice singing along to the Wizarding Wireless, the hypnotizing strum of Peter's fingertips against his pine desktop as he looked over a new file--it was too much to fight against and she quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Ginny stood alone on the wooden porch of the Burrow, the grass on the lawn a mixture of green and gold in the summer sun, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the house.

"'ello Gin-bug," greeted an eleven year-old Colin Creevey. He was camera-less and looked tiny wearing Ron's old maroon Weasley sweater. Curiously the golden R had been knitted backwards. "I'm going to learn to fly today."

"Are you?" asked Ginny. Not finding it odd that in her dream state, Colin was eleven, wearing Ron's sweater, and preparing himself for a flying lesson. "And who is going to teach you?"

"That would be me," declared Draco walking onto the porch. Oddly he was wearing a Gryffindor Quidditch uniform. Ginny recognized it as Harry's by the small rip at the hem of the scarlet robe, which resulted from a difficult match with Ravenclaw. "You don't expect him to learn anything from that hag Hooch do you?" He imitated the flying instructor's voice, "That's not where you place your hands," sounding a lot like a screeching owl. "Rubbish," he grumbled.

Colin laughed.

"Well, that's enough of that Creevey, were we're burning sunlight," he said taking the first steps down from the porch.

"Aye, aye, captain," saluted Colin. Three fingers lifted at his wrinkleless brow. "See ya 'round love," he turned to Ginny and with that he disappeared off the porch.

"Have fun," Ginny smiled as she watched Draco and Colin run broomless into the garden. Then something different filled her senses, and Ginny turned away from them towards the house.

"Mum," she said, smiling as her late mother walked to stand next to her.

"Oh, Ginny dear," her mum replied, her voice as sweet as honey. "How have you been?"

"I'm doing wonderfully," she lied, even feeling guilt in her dream.

"You can't lie to me here, Virginia Ann," her mother started."You may be able to fool everyone out there all you like, but not in here."

"I know," she said her voice cracking with unshed tears, "I'm sorry."
"S'alright," Mum soothed, grabbing Ginny and pulling her into a warm embrace. Ginny felt so heavenly being in her mother's tender arms, she never wanted to leave. She longed to be ten-years old again, when she was ignorant to pain and betrayal. But this was only a dream, it couldn't last, and she knew that.

"I've missed you so much," she cried into her mother's shoulder. "You haven't the slightest clue, how much I need you."

"And you my dear, haven't the slightest clue on how much the people in your life need you," answered Mum, smoothing Ginny's hair with a small plump hand. "How much a particular boy needs you."

"Colin, doesn't need me, Mum," Ginny laughed, inhaling her mother's familiar smell of fresh baked pies. "He just keeps me 'round for decoration."

"I wasn't talking about him," said Mum, her voice deadly serious.

"Then who?" she asked. Ginny had no other 'boy' in her life besides Colin. White hair and a smirk fleeted past her mind. 'No, he would never need me,' she thought.

"Can you think of no one who could benefit from your gifts?" Mum asked.

"Gifts?" she scoffed, reluctantly pushing away from the warmth of her mother. "You call this stupid overspill, left inside me a Gift."

"It is a gift, Ginny. Unwanted? Yes, but a gift none the less. Given to you for reason's I'll never know, but there's a reason for everything," she said sternly. Her brown eyes narrowing as she stepped away from Ginny and into the kitchen. "My goodness, how often have I told you that?"

"Don't start spouting nonsense to me. You're not there!" she yelled, her voice cracking again, as she followed her mother, she found herself walking, not into the kitchen, but rather into Draco's office. "Bloody hell, you're not even real, just some part of my subconscious that's decided to manifest into you while I'm sleeping."

"That's not true, and you know it," said Mum, calmly walking to stand by Draco's large desk. The black high-backed chair he always inhabited was turned around and whoever was sitting in it was concealed from her.

"No, it is true," she answered, "I've seen someone about these, Mum. Her name's Hannah. She works at the Ministry. She says you're not real, just a guilt that resides in a far corner of my mind; that the things you say are only things that I need to tell myself; that if it wasn't you it would be someone else."

"Like who?," a silky voice asked as the chair swiveled around, "Me?"
Ginny needn't see him to know who sat in the chair. His neat black hair combed down the middle, his beautiful eyes boring into her. His cruel smile, mocking her as he chased her around her dreams. Never catching her, but always so close.

"Have you told your little friend about me?" he asked.

"Wake-up, Ginny!" she told herself, turning quickly to the door. She nearly cried out to find it was no longer a dark stained oak door, but sweating fungus covered gray stones. She cringed knowing where she was, under Hogwarts Castle, in his Chamber.

"It's not going to work," Tom cooed in her ear, wrapping his firm hands around her waist, squeezing till she winced. "I've caught you this time and Potter's not here to save you."

"Shut-up," growled Ginny, through gritted teeth. "You're not real."

"No one cares enough about you to defy me," he continued ignoring her. "Not your mum, not your Colin, not your Charlie, and certainly not your precious Draco. No one wants you Ginny. No one."

"Not Real! Just a dream," she repeated to herself, struggling against his grip. "Not real. Just a dream."

"Keep telling yourself that Gin," he mocked in her ear.

"Wake-up Ginny!" she screamed again, shoving her hand into her mouth. She bit down hard on the flesh between her index finger and her thumb.

She woke with a start, the taste of copper in her mouth. She still had the curve of her hand between her teeth and quickly pulled it from her mouth, putting it between the folds of her green robes. There was an strange residual ache along her sides, and she wasn't sure why.

"Ginny are you okay?" asked Peter, putting a cool hand to her sweaty brow.

"Yeah," Holly chimed in, "You were wailing over here, like a banshee."

"I'm fine," Ginny said closing her eyes, not feeling fine at all. Loved that sentence. The memories of her dream slipping from her, like water through her fingers. "It's just- you know- the dreams."

"Maybe you should see Hannah," Peter offered, walking to his desk.

"Why? What's the big deal? We all have 'em. It's what she gave us the potions for," said Holly. She was already sitting behind her desk.

Ginny let out a sigh of relief. She adored Hannah Abbot-Macmillian even more than her colleagues did, but she had begun being short with Ginny. It wasn't Hannah's fault. She warned Ginny that using too much Sleeping Draught wasn't healthy, but Ginny refused to mind her advice, much to Hannah's annoyance.

"Holly's right," Ginny smiled, weakly. "Colin had me up late last night."

"Did he now?" insinuated Holly, in her ignorance.

"Oh, shut it," said Ginny, smiling playfully, picking up her oversized eagle quill. She would let Holly believe what she wanted as long as the focus was off her.

Holly opened her mouth to say something else, but shut it at the appearance of a tall figure in their doorway.

"Ah, Ginny," said Seamus, laying a thick brown folder onto Ginny's paper littered desk.

"What's this?" asked Ginny. Her two co-workers were looking at her with great interest.

"Zabini," he answered, "it seems Ron wants you to look over the loot again."

"But I've looked it over a thousand times," she said.

"Really? A thousand?" asked Seamus, playfully.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she replied flatly.

She opened the dark-brown file, and Blaise Zabini's handsome face looked up at her. His long black hair was pulled back, showing her the intensity of his eyes. Ginny had seen eyes like that before; they were different in color, but they held the same arrogant certainty.

"Not particularly," he answered smiling at Holly. Holly giggled tossing her fine blonde hair behind her shoulder.

Ginny groaned. Why did all guys think they were so charming?

*~*~*~*

Draco looked down from atop the flight of stairs he'd just climbed, surprised that he wasn't panting. 'Had the Ministry gotten smaller?' he thought, walking along the corridor. He hadn't toured the Ministry of Magic since he was a child about to begin Hogwarts, and his memories were of long staircases, tall ceilings, and big grumpy wizards. Now the staircases were short, the halls cramped, and every room seemed to be filled with cheery young adults. It all seemed so different.

When Draco had arrived, the front desk had been deserted. 'An early evening for an incompetent employee,' he had thought in passing, deciding to take the task of finding Ginny's office on his own.

He lazily walked down the first floor hall searching for a door bearing Ginny's name, or her department, though he wasn't entirely sure what the name of it was. All the doors brandished names for Mediwitches and Mediwizards.

The second floor was much the same. Though the offices were no longer inhabited by Mediwitches, its departments held no interest for Draco. He walked swiftly down the hall, easily sliding past two witches and continued onto the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time until he reached the third landing; and when he looked down the hall, he felt ready to surrender, as this hall held twice the number of doors then the last. He took a deep breath to compose himself and remember the reason he was here: To find Ginny Weasley.

He hadn't spoken with her in a little over a week, and she had failed to reply to any of the many owls he'd had sent to her. He had tolerated her ignoring him, but this morning she had purposely missed an appointment they'd had scheduled. And this came on top of his new 'employee' Pansy's inability to read anything other than the journalistic trash, The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. She seemed to be incapable of doing anything related to research, and he finally told her to just go home. Between Pansy's uselessness and the nurse's report on his mother's deteriorating health, Draco was feeling embarrassingly desperate. He had to find the map as soon as possible, and he knew in order to accomplish that task, he'd need to get Ginny's help again. And that's how he found himself on third landing in the Ministry of Magic.

"See you tomorrow, Holly," a light and familiar voice bid farewell, causing Draco to look up. His eyes were met with a tiny figure covered in oversized green robes. Her back was to him, but he could recognize that knot of unruly red hair, anywhere.

"Bye Ginny," answered a voice from inside the small room.

Ginny walked with a strange step that was far from graceful. Draco had spent time studying her -for research purposes- and decided that grace was one of the many traits that Ginny Weasley did not have. Walking and digging in her black shoulder bag, seemed to be difficult for her, as she continued down the hall bumping into many displeased wizards. He almost chuckled when she finally retrieved the item she'd been searching for. When she let her hair fall from its knot and pulled the colourful wool-cap over her crown of red hair.

Without the distraction of the shoulder bag she safely reached her destination--a spacious room filled with many wizards and witches. The sign, above the large opening to the room, read: The Point: Apparate, Disapparate, and Portkeys.

"Weasley!" a brunette called to Ginny as she stepped into the room. She was about Ginny's age and looked familiar, but Draco couldn't place her.

*~*~*
"Hi Connie," Ginny greeted over the popping sounds of wizards Disapparting.

Connie Smith was standing amongst a small group of witches. She had been a Ravenclaw in Ginny's year. After being top in their class at Hogwarts, she was immediately given a job at the Ministry. Ginny didn't actually like Connie or her small group of former Ravenclaws, but she smiled politely at them, anyway.

"So where are you going?" the lanky brunette asked.

"Diagon Alley," said Ginny, pulling her wand from her green robes. It had been a long day and she was eager to put space between herself and the Ministry.

"At this time of day?" asked Connie, laughing. "That's not a very good idea."

"And why's that?" asked Ginny, stiffly. She was tired and not in the mood to listen to a haughty former Ravenclaw.

"Because, there must be a million wizards shopping right now," she said, missing the forced politeness in Ginny's tone.

"Well, I'll take my chances," said Ginny smiling dryly, before she Disapparate.

*~*~*

Immediately after Draco overheard Ginny explain her plans to visit Diagon Alley, he Apparated there himself. He stood outside Eeylop's Owl Emporium, watching for a flash of colorful knit cap, or green robes. He spotted her walking towards him from the other side of the street just past Madam Malkin's. She stopped in-front of Flourish and Blott's where Granger and someone familiar to Draco were standing.

He watched the burly boy greet Ginny with a nod of his head. Draco knew he had met him before, but couldn't place a name.

'Something to do with trees,' he reminded himself, trying to jog his memory. Bark, Oak, Green..."Wood," he said aloud.

He crossed the street as they split-up; Wood making his way to Quality Quidditch and Supplies, as Ginny and Granger walked into Flourish and Blott's.

*~*~*

"So what specific book are you looking for?" asked Hermione as they poured over the shelved books.
"'Witch Doctor: Potions for Every Ailment.' Second-hand if they have it," answered Ginny. She didn't want to pay too much for a book; she was only going to use for two potions.

"Ah, here it is!" shouted Hermione. Her voice sounded distant, from two stacks over. Ginny came around the corner to find Hermione standing on one of the many small ladders the owner had installed. "Here. Take it," she said, handing the large book down to Ginny.

Ginny obediently took the book and stepped back, giving Hermione room to step down. She thought she caught the smell of something familiar, but it passed quickly.

"So, what do you need with this book, anyway?" Hermione asked.

"Sleeping Draught and Capitis Doloris," she answered, adding 'Bruise Be-Gone' to the list in her head.

"Capitis Doloris?" asked Hermione, "That's pretty serious. Is it not?"

"Well, I've run out again." Ginny started, turning her new book over in her hands, checking the price. 'Damn,' she sighed, 'Full price.' "And Hannah said that the Mediwitches' budget has been slashed, again. They can't afford to keep our entire department in potions and lotions, so I've decided to take matters into my own hands."

"You only have three people in your department," said Hermione, walking ahead of Ginny. "Isn't that a bit drastic."

"Well, I suppose," she paused, "But we do use a good deal of their resources, and it's really not fair on our part-"

"Mr. Malfoy," the jovial voice of the manager floated through the stack, cutting Ginny off. "Is there anything I can help you buy...I mean find, today."

Ginny's head snapped in the direction the voice was coming from. Through the stack, she could see Draco talking to the owner.

"Not today, I'm just browsing thank-you." He paused, his pale eyes instinctively moving over the manager's shoulder, to lock with Ginny's briefly. "But let's say I was looking for something like a diary or journal, where might I be able to find those," he smirked.

Ginny didn't hear the manager's answer, due to the ringing in her ears.

"Ginny, are you ready?" asked Hermione impatiently. "Because the boys wanted to go out for a few early butterbeers, and-"

"I'm ready," interrupted Ginny. "Besides after I buy this," she hoisted the heavy book to hold against her chest, "I won't be able to afford any new books for awhile."

"Are you okay?" asked Hermione, "Your face's a bit red."

"It's always red," she grumbled, meeting Hermione at the end of the aisle.

"Don't be mad, Ginny," apologized Hermione. "That's not what I meant at all."

"I know," said Ginny, as they turned onto another aisle, "I'm just teasing you. Merlin, you have the sense of humor of a Grim." She paused, 'Where have I heard that before?'

"Well, well. What do we have here?" a drawling voice asked. Ginny looked up to find Draco leaning against a stacked shelf, in his family's standard black robes, his shined black shoes crossed at the ankles.

'Always the vision of 'cool' or so he mistakenly believes,' thought Ginny, smiling as she remembered the picture he'd made when covered in mint-green lotion.

"Granger and," he paused, his cool gray eyes running the length of Ginny's robes. With his indiscreet gaze, she felt her face burn even more. "Weasley, having an afternoon shop are we?"

"Ignore him," Hermione whispered to Ginny before she passed him.

"Bringing your goodies home to your useless Potter," he quietly spat, as Ginny attempted to walk by.

"No," Ginny argued, hating herself for taking his bait, "And I honestly don't see how it's any of your business what we do, Draco." She finished, pushing past him.

"It's not, never was, and never will be," he called after her.

Ginny pursed her lips, as she walked away from him and to Hermione who was saving her a place in line.

Draco's smirk fell as Ginny stomped away from him. His ploy to get her to help him, wasn't going as well as he had planned. He shifted his gaze to watch Ginny struggling to balance her thick book, while digging in her oversized shoulder bag.

He'd overheard her say to Granger, she wanted it secondhand, had he not. He knew that particular book didn't come cheap; each of Mother's nurses had demanded a copy.

As he watched her patiently waiting in line, digging through her tote, an idea turned over in his mind.

He grabbed the first book his hand touched, not bothering to read the title. While Ginny was still buried in the depths of her bag, he took the opportunity to skip her, sliding quietly between her and the next patron.

"Excuse me, Malfoy, but we were next in line," the grinding haughty voice of Granger caused him to turn around.

"Were you?" he asked innocently. "I didn't see anyone in line, or at least anyone worth noting," he paused, looking pointedly behind Ginny at the mildly attractive women, who were intently listening to their conversation. "Or did I?" he smiled charmingly.

"Disgusting," said Ginny, glancing over her shoulder at the now giggling women, then back to him. An odd expression flickering across her face.

'Could that be jealousy?' Draco asked himself with a combination of amusement and a small bit of hope.

"Just pay for your book, Draco," the red head spat, squashing his ounce of hope.

"Draco?" he heard Granger, whisper none to quietly as he stepped up to the counter, "since when is he Draco?"

"Ah," the store owner smiled embarrassed, reading the title of Draco's purchase, "A Polyjuice of Her Own: A Witches Guide through the Ins and Outs Menopause," he announced softly but it seemed to echo off the tiny shop's walls.

"Well," said Draco, hoping that whatever fell from of his lips sounded confident or at least intelligent, "We should all be educated on such things."

He felt his face burning, as Ginny's sweet giggle reached his ears. He closed his eyes, thanking Mother for the gene that helped conceal his blush.

He opened his black velvet moneybag, the embroidered silver snake hissing at him, as he pulled on the cords.

'I'll give her a reason to giggle,' he smirked.

*~*~*

"Hope it's a good read, Malfoy," laughed Ginny, as the owner handed him his neatly wrapped purchase.

He turned on her as she stepped up to pay for hers, his black robes laying open as he stuffed his moneybag into an inside pocket. His lips parted slightly, but instead of a snide insult, he simply sneered.
"Now, that's odd," commented Hermione, as Ginny laid her book on the counter.

The cashier quickly wrapped it in a piece of shiny purple paper, handing it back to her with a smile.

"How much do I owe?" asked Ginny, ready to empty her already light money purse.

"Oh, nothing, darling," he answered, "Mr. Malfoy took care of it."

"He did what?!" both Hermione and Ginny asked in unison.

"Took care of it," he said, waving his hand for the next customer.

*~*~*

"Which way did he go?" she asked Hermione, as they stepped out of the store. Her book, which Hermione had shrunk, was safely put away in her shoulder bag. She looked both ways for a sign of blonde hair or black robes, but came up with nothing.

"I don't know," replied Hermione, "but I don't think it's a good idea for us to run after him."

"It doesn't have to be us," Ginny said after looking both ways again, she turned left, "It can just be me."

"That's not what I meant, Ginny, and don't try to spin it that way either," Hermione said, turning Ginny around by her arm.

They were in front of the small alley between the Stationary shop and Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"What does he think he's playing at?" asked Ginny, before realizing what she had said. Hermione was ignorant to everything that had happened between her and Malfoy, but if she were to find out, she would surely tell Ron ("it's for your own good, Ginny") and she didn't want to think of what Ron would do.

"I don't know Ginny," Hermione started, "But I'm sure blindly chasing Draco Malfoy down Diagon Alley, isn't going to help."

Ginny knew Hermione was right. With all the witches and wizards that were packed into Diagon Alley this evening, finding Draco would be harder than finding a needle in a haystack. "You're right," she sighed. "I'm sorry. I completely overreacted."

Hermione studied Ginny for awhile before she spoke again, "Well, I have to meet Ron and Harry at the Leaky Cauldron. Did you want to come? We can discuss it with them, if you like."

"No thank-you," Ginny said flatly, "I don't feel like playing the fourth wheel this afternoon."

"Ginny, don't be like that," Hermione said apologetically, "You know we don't feel that way."

"Yes, of course you don't. I was just teasing you again," she lied, smiling broadly at Hermione, wrinkling her nose for emphasis.

"Well," said Hermione; she suddenly looked quite uncomfortable, shifting from one of her small feet to the next. "I need to go. You know how Ron and Harry get if you keep them waiting too long."

"Drunk?"

Hermione laughed before turning her back on Ginny. She was watching as the former Head Girl crossed the street, her brown dome bobbing through the crowd, when a warm hand covered her mouth. She murmured against it as it pulled her into the alley.

Ginny kicked backwards, hitting her attacker's shin and she heard a familiar grunt. He wrapped his free arm around her sore waist, and she involuntarily whimpered. Immediately, he eased his grip.

"Calm down, Weasley," demanded Draco. He was loosely holding her back against his chest, his free hand still firmly clamped over her mouth, but oddly Ginny felt her body relaxing.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?!" said Ginny, her words muffled against his palm, her eyes narrowed. She turned her head to try and glare at him, but a lock of fair hair blocked her vision.

"We need to have a chat," he said.

*~*~*

He adjusted the knob on his Omnioculars to better hear the two young adults arguing in the darkening alleyway. The young woman's angry voice filtered to him, as he sat watching her from a second-story window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. He brought the Omnioculars away from his eyes and jumped away from the unfamiliar reflection in the windowpane. Chuckling to himself, he lifted the surveillance gadget back to his eyes. It was difficult adjusting to his new body. The height and weight difference was dramatic, but the worst was this body's eyesight. These eyes were clear, but weren't as sharp as his own, and were making it much more difficult for him to observe things. He clicked another knob, to examine the girl's face closer. It was easier to identify his prey this way. Her thick red hair was hidden under a colorful knit-cap, but her rust colored freckles against her pale skin screamed 'I'm a Weasley.'

"What did you think you were going to accomplish by pulling that little stunt back there? Do you want Hermione to know about you? About the map?" she questioned, taking a step away from the tall blonde.

"No," he said evenly, leaning sideways against the brown bricked wall of the building. "And you're not going to tell her either."

Her bright eyes widened, and her small chapped lips formed an O. "I'm not?" she asked, her face pinkening, whether from the cold or her anger he didn't know. "And whose going to stop me, you?"

"Maybe," he answered calmly, folding his arms over his chest.

She snorted turning away from him. "Is that a threat Malfoy?" She paused, waiting for an answer, but he just stared unwaveringly at her.

"What? Are you going to Memory Charm me like you did Hermione?" she asked, sarcastically. "Though I doubt you have the magical talent enough to do that."

"Don't tempt me."

She narrowed her dark eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest, causing her shoulder-bag to swing forward.

After a moment's silence she spoke. "Well," she asked, opening her arms as if to display the air around her. "You dragged me down this alley for some reason. Might as well have it out."

"Dragged is a bit of a strong word don't you agree?" he calmly asked, lifting a pale brow. "Let's say, escorted or even accompanied."

The man behind the Omnioculars snorted, fogging the window's glass. Malfoy was always a wonder to him, but now even more. How could he be so calm and maintain such civility with a fuming girl, like Ginny Weasley, before him?

She closed her eyes again, as if to gain her composure.

"Draco," she said, her voice was void of anger and sounded weary, "just tell me what you want, so I can move along with my evening."

"Why haven't you answered my owls or shown up for our appointments? We had one today, at noon, and you deliberately neglected to attend. I assumed you were angry with me, but I thought after a week you would have surely cooled off. Obviously, I was wrong."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she mumbled.

"As you unfortunately already know," he continued, ignoring Weasley's comment, "my mother is ill at the moment. And in order for her to be cured, I'm going to be in need of your assistance. So, on my part, I'm going to graciously apologize for you being offended by my comment last week about your mother."

"That's not an apology," she said, gawking at him and his audacity.

"Yes, it is," he said, looking at her in disbelief.

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not!" she shouted. "You're not apologizing for making the comment. You're apologizing for me taking offense to the comment. There's a difference you know."

"I see none," he said casually, examining his nails.

"Ugh," she cried out, "You are the most exhausting person, I have ever met in my entire life."

"You're just saying that," he smirked.

"That's it," she said, turning from him, "I'm leaving."

"But we haven't finished talking," he called after her, not moving from his comfortable slant against the brick wall. The watcher could only see her red hair and colorful knit cap now, as she stood with her back to the shop and Malfoy. She was obviously torn between leaving the small alley and turning and hexing Malfoy into next week. She stood still for a few seconds, gaining her composure again, before turning around to face him.

"Draco, I'm tired," she said, her voice taking on the weary tone it had held earlier. It seemed to be bouncing between weary and agitated in the span of one note. "So, could we please not fight now."

"Would you rather we do it later, then," he said, pushing off the wall and walking closer to her.

"I'd rather we not do it at all, but I don't see that happening," she said falling quiet again.

"This is definitely not how I saw this conversation going," he said nonchalantly.

"Honestly, how did you expect this little conversation to go?" she asked.

"I would apologize and you would accept," he said.

"That simple, huh."

"Well, it should have been that simple. Honestly, I didn't foresee you still being angry with me. I mean, you've been angry with me before and you've always gotten over it."

"Draco," she said softly, "I'm not sure I'm even mad at you anymore. It's simply on a matter of principle, now. If I went back to work for you, it would be like betraying my mum's memory-"

"What about my Mother," he shouted, "you can't just let her..." his voice trailed off, it seemed like he was finally losing his cool disposition. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke again."What happened to loyalty and always doing the right thing. Isn't that what you Gryffindors stand for."

"And what's the right thing, Draco?" she asked, looking at him.

"Do you really need to ask that?" he spat. His face was flushing a bit, and he looked a mixture of emotions as he turned his back on her. She picked her hand up to lay it on his shoulder but decided against it and put the tip of her thumb into her mouth.

"You know what Weasley," he whirled around on her, his face a sheet of indifference, "I don't need your help. Hell, I don't even want it."

And he walked out of the alley.

"That's interesting," thought the bystander. He had never seen Draco Malfoy lose his cool so dramatically before. This Weasley girl was much more notable than he'd originally thought.

*~*~*

Draco surveyed his reflection in his bedroom's gold framed mirror. A long black single breasted lapel suit, a shiny black vest, a white Egyptian cotton button down shirt, and a light silver tie, draped his body.

He had his hair cut earlier in the day, and it was now too short to tuck behind his ears, so he wore it combed back.

"Tink!" he yelled, knowing the house-elf wasn't too far from his quarters.

The tiny doe-eyed elf stumbled into the room from the service passage. She was gasping for breath and clutching her thin side through her dull dress.

"Master, has called Tink," said the little elf out of breath. She was half-bowing, half-curtseying.

"Yes, I need you to tell me the truth," he ordered.

Tink nodded her head.

"What do you think?" He lifted his arms, to give her a better view of his newly tailored suit and freshly trimmed hair.

Tink blinked her large brown eyes twice, but didn't say anything.

Draco gave an aggravated sigh, "How am I dressed? How do I look?"

"Tinks is not at liberties to say, sir," said Tink. Her eyes wandered to her feet.

"Then what good are you?" He turned back to his bedroom mirror.

"Well?" he asked, after he heard the service door close.

"Smashing." The antique mirror answered. "If I may speak freely young Master Draco, if I weren't a mirror, you would be in a great lot of trouble."

"You're just saying that." He argued trying to sound humble. "I'm much too thin."

"You're not," she rebutted. "And I'm sure that young redhead will find you just as irresistible. Pity that you two are arguing. I must say that whatever you've done, she'll excuse you, if you apologize dressed as well as this."

"You think so." He smirked, turning to get a side view of his profile. "Wait, how'd you know about Ginny?"

"Well, I heard it from a painting on the first floor, who heard it from one of the door's gargoyles, who said he overheard you two arguing on about your mothers," said the mirror quickly. Draco was sure if it could breathe, it would have been panting.

"So, you've all been gossiping about me, have you? Think it's funny to laugh about your master, do you?" Draco asked in his anger.

He wasn't sure why his temper was so quick lately, but since his encounter with Ginny in Diagon Alley, he had been snapping at his servants for the smallest infractions. This alone wasn't completely out of character, but even Edmund, who had always been a favorite of Draco's, had been on the receiving end of his temper."

"There's is no reason to yell, sir," said Edmund. Draco turned to see the tiny house-elf standing in the doorway. He was holding a dark burgundy pillow in his hands and two small pieces of silver lay upon it.

"What have you there?" asked Draco, nodding at the pillow and deliberately ignoring the house-elf's last comment.

"Master's cufflinks, sir," Edmund said. He walked further into the room, the pillow held high over his head.
"I forgot I asked you to get them for me," Draco said taking them off the pillow. He could feel the silver M, beneath his thumb as he easily slipped them into the bare holes of his cuffs.

"Your date for the evening, Mrs. Price, is also in the hall waiting for you," Edmund said lowering the pillow.

"And she can keep waiting," Draco said shortly. "I'm not finished yet."

He ran his fingers through his hair and flattened his suit out once more, before turning to walk out of his room.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he could see Pansy at the bottom. Even in the scarcely lit dreary hall, it wasn't difficult to spot her. He had grown accustomed to walking Ginny out of the Manor, and when she came into the hall, her bright golden-red hair had saved her bleak clothes from merging into the walls, but Pansy was loud in her metallic pink dress.

"Draco," she said, when she spotted him.

"You have the invitation; do you not?" he asked, taking the steps one at a time.

"Yes," she replied. "Shall we go then?" she asked pulling a small white envelope from her cloak's pocket.

Draco turned to the now open door, where Tink stood with her hand on the large doorknob, and Edmund stood with Draco's formal cloak. "Where do you think you're going?" asked Pansy, a trickle of her grating laugh, in her voice. She was looking at Draco but glanced down at Edmund with an odd expression, Draco assumed it was from the house-elf holding his clothes.

"To a ball. And yourself?" he answered turning around, ready to give her one of his best glares.

"You don't have to go anywhere," she said, holding the invitation up by a corner.

"Portkey?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow, before touching the opposite corner and disappearing from the Manor.

*~*~*

Ginny arrived at the ball, a half-hour late. She had checked the house twice for another costume, before deciding to leave in her now one-sided guise. She was still fuming at Colin for not telling her until thirty minutes before they were to take their Portkey, that he had switched costumes. Instead of going as her match, Hansel, he had decided to go as Harry-Bloody-Potter, skipping out of the bathroom in a Chuddley Cannons' Quidditch robe and black framed glasses, his mousy brown hair charmed a shocking black.

Now here she stood on a balcony filled with her brothers waiting for the evening to be over. She had been asked by almost every partygoer if she was "Little Red Riding Hood" but had scared most people off, by declaring that the next person to ask her if she was would be clobbered.

She wanted to stay in her foul mood, scowling at everyone who passed, but it was difficult with the cheery temperament, the bottomless goblets, and the beautiful firework-enchanted ceiling that Fred and George had charmed themselves.

`Fred and George', Ginny thought, looking over at her brothers who were talking animatedly to Victor Krum. Each twin had a goblet of their "Secret Punch" in one hand and a veela or some other equally stunning creature, dressed as a bunny (though Ginny had never seen bunnies that looked like that) hanging off the other. They had decided to go as fictional characters themselves and had dressed as "Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde." Fred was clearly Mr. Hyde wearing his hair in a mess and dressing in a white ripped shirt and shredded trousers. George, however, was his exact opposite, his neat red hair was combed back, covered mostly by his black top hat, and his black suit was pristine.

Her other brothers faired well in the costume department too, Bill dressed as a knight and his date Fleur was a damsel in distress, but Ginny wasn't sure how distressed she was as her lips hadn't seemed to part from Bill's the whole night. Charlie had worn a costume that made him look very much like Hercules, but he kept denying it, saying it was the only thing he had left. Percy was a Gringott's Banker, or at least that's what Penny told everyone since no one believed he had worn a costume, and Ron dressed as his favorite comic book detective. Hermione and Harry who Ginny considered her family also dressed up, although Harry didn't stretch too much. He had put off buying his costume, and had to apologize to Hermione and Ron for wearing his Quidditch robes. Hermione, however, looked beautiful in her toga as Clio, the muse of history.

Colin walked by, pulling her from her musings.

"Still mad at me are you?" he asked, offering her a golden goblet.

"Yes," she sneered, taking the goblet. She took a long sip. The beverage was sweet and gave her a strange, warm fuzzy feeling, like everything might be okay.

"Will making a fool of meself make up for it?" he asked, smiling.

"Maybe," she said, trying to fight a giggle. "What do you plan on doing, prancing around in your nutty pants."

"If that'll make you happy," he said, acting as if he were going to take off his belt. But Fred's voice gathered both of their attention.

"Well looksee' here," said Fred, loudly. Ginny looked at him and noticed that his blue eyes were focusing on something over her shoulder. When she turned to follow his gaze, it was obvious what he was gawking at.
"Draco," she whispered, not realizing she had said it.

The crowd had parted from the entrance, and Draco stood on the top of the stairs in all his glory. His hair was shorter than the last time she had seen each him, back on Diagon Alley. He was wearing an expensive Muggle black suit and hanging off his arm was Pansy Parkinson.

"Why in the hell did you invite him?" asked Ron, dragging Ginny from her daze.

"We didn't," answered Fred, nibbling on the neck of one of his bunnies. Ginny noticed Percy shift uncomfortably but George quickly grabbed her attention again.

"We invited that bird he has on his arm," said George, taking a long sip from his punch. "And we'd have avoided inviting her if it wouldn't have been for Wes'."

"You mean that cow is the widow of Wesley Price?" asked Charlie's date, a tall blonde named Starr.

"Who can forget all that wailing?" said Ron. He followed with an accurate portrayal of Pansy's less than dignified funeral antics.

The twins, Bill, and Charlie laughed loudly and even Percy suppressed a smile. Ginny, her eyes still on Draco as he ordered a drink from the bar, felt the sides of her lips tugging.

"Ron, that's not very humorous or kind. The young woman had just lost her husband. How would you feel if you were to lose Hermione or better yet, Harry?" scolded Penelope. The Weasley filled balcony seemed to simultaneously gasp.

"Don't even try to compare what we have to that," hissed Ron. His voice was unusually calm, which only meant that he was beyond bad temper and on his way to blind rage.

"Ron," said Harry and Hermione softly. They were guiding Ron away from the large pregnant woman.

"Well," Percy started, looking more relaxed than he had moments before, "Me and Penny must really be going. It's not good for the future mother of my son to be tramping about at night. Ginny," he turned to his youngest sibling hugging her, "Keep an eye on your brothers," he whispered into her ear "and for the love of Merlin eat something. You're too skinny."

"I will," she said, smiling at her brother. It was always different hugging Percy, than her other brothers. Maybe, it was the colour of his eyes, the tone of his voice, or the feminine quality his embrace held, but briefly it felt like she was hugging her mother, again.

"Bye Penny," she said, trying to give Penny an equally enthusiastic hug, but her seven month stomach didn't allow either to get their arms around the other.

"Don't drink too much, dear," Penny said, patting her on the head. The gesture, though loving, made Ginny cringe.

*~*~*

Pansy took a long swallow of her punch, watching Ron Weasley over the goblet's rim. He was gathering drinks from the bartender. His long freckled fingers so easily wrapped around the goblets, as he tried to balance all three. She licked her lips when he straightened his broad shoulders, only made broader by the khaki coat he wore. She gave him a coy smile, when his eyes locked with hers.

Bright blue eyes the color of a clear winter sky. His long calloused fingers, his wide muscular shoulders, his bright blue eyes. Everything about him made her want to... Well, she wasn't sure, but whatever it was she wanted to do it with Ron Weasley.

"Don't I know you?" the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy pulled her from her 'observations' of Weasley. She turned in her seat to find him talking to a tuxedo clad house-elf.

"No sirs," the house-elf answered. His warm green eyes cast down trying to avoid Draco's cold gray.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes narrowing further, his elegant finger lightly shaking at the waiter.

"Yes, sirs," stuttered the house-elf.

Pansy almost felt sorry for the little creature. It had been merely doing the job it had been hired for, when Draco decided to harass him.

"Leave the help alone, Malfoy," she said, leaning back in her chair, a perfectly curled lock of brown hair falling into her face.

Draco looked up at her, obviously annoyed, and the elf took it as his chance to escape. The former Head Boy's eyes moved from the empty space back to her.

"Thank you, Parkinson," he said pulling out a chair, and sitting in it. "If you hadn't interrupted us, I would have figured it out.

"It's Price," she said, "It's only decent to remember the names of the poor people you're blackmailing."

"Well, there are so many," he said dryly.

*~*~*
"Is it me or was Pansy Parkinson staring over here?" Ron asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"It's you," replied Harry, swirling his own around. "But that's not important. What's up with the Zabini case. I know you're a good deal closer than that cow Lita Gross's been going on about."

"Not really," Ron sighed. He opened his mouth to embellish when Seamus Finnegan crashed into their table, knocking Harry's glass over, sending dark punch over the white tablecloth. All three friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, jumped back to avoid getting any on themselves.

"So, 'ow's 'arry "My fi'teen secons of 'ame are over" Podder and 'is bes' chap Ron 'I sleep wit' a 'porter and now she's bent on making my life a living 'ell" Weasley," a highly intoxicated Seamus asked.

Ron and Harry stared unblinking back at Seamus. Hermione was busy cleaning the mess up with her wand.

"'orry, boys," he said, his jolly mood gone. "It's de punch," he lifted up his own golden cup, which he'd managed to hold onto. "It's addictive."

"S'okay," Harry said, taking his seat and smiling up at his very intoxicated former dorm mate. "We'll just forget you said that."

"Tanks 'arry," Seamus said, wobbling away with the help of Dean Thomas.

"O'kay, No more punch for Seamus," Ron said taking his own seat.

"You can say that again," Ginny said walking up. The front of her costume, which had been previously white had a long red stain down the center and over one arm she carried a heap of white fabric. "He actually asked me if I was Little Miss Muffet, and he wouldn't mind me sitting on his tuffet any day. Then he spilled punch down my front." She looked down at the stain, a scowl distorting her face.

"He said what?" asked Ron, searching the ball room for their inebriated pal. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Oh, sit down Ron," lectured Ginny and Hermione. He reluctantly sat down and frowned at obeying two girls' orders, especially since one was his baby sister.

"He shouldn't be talking to you like that," Ron said.

"I can take care of myself, thank-you. Besides, I didn't move over here to start a fight."

"Then what might you be over here for?" asked Ron, taking a sip from his goblet; he felt unusually tired.

"I came over to talk to Hermione." She turned to the brunette, "Can I see you for a moment?"
"Sure," said Hermione, rising from her seat.

~*~*~*~

Ginny pushed the lavatory door open, allowing Hermione to enter first, her white toga making a strange swishing sound as she turned to face Ginny.

"So what's this about?" she asked, smiling.

"Seamus spilt punch on me," Ginny said, looking down. She realized this statement was strange and quickly added, "And I don't want punch on me all night."

"That I much can see," said Hermione, taking her wand from the rope belt of her costume. "I can fix it quickly, a simple removal spell."

"No," Ginny said, putting her hands up to stop Hermione. The brunette had obviously misunderstood her intentions.

"What I mean is, I don't want to wear this anymore," she waved her hands indicating her costume. "I want you to transfigure it into something, well," she paused, "Anything."

Hermione looked at her thoughtfully, her arms crossed over her chest, her wand tapping against the top of her shoulder.

"Please," Ginny begged.

"Okay," said Hermione, reluctantly. With the small amount of fabric Ginny's costume allotted, she could only transfigure one type of dress, and she was sure Ron wouldn't appreciate it very much. "But you have to promise to keep your cloak on," she said indicating the fabric in Ginny's hands.

"Promise," Ginny said, fingering the cloak, the pristine white making even her pale hands look a shade darker. "It's a beautiful cloak; isn't it? It was Mum's ya know." She looked back at Hermione with the strangest look of sadness on her face.

"Well you do it justice," Hermione said taking the large, but soft cloak from her. "Ready?" she asked, lifting her wand once more.

"As I'll ever be."

*~*~*

Harry sat next to Ron, a new goblet in his hand. Oddly every time he took a sip, he felt a little more relaxed. Usually, alcohol Muggle or otherwise had the opposite effect on him. He and Ron would grow loud and obnoxious till Hermione yelled at them for being drunken idiots, but now he felt if he put his head down on the table and closed his eyes everything would be fine.

"Well, I'm back," Hermione said, sitting next to him.

He slowly moved his head to look at her. He thought she looked pretty with the way she'd worn her hair, and he smiled dumbly at her.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Ginny asked, and he slowly turned to look at her. She was wearing something far different than she had been wearing before her loo trip.

"What are you wearing?" Ron asked; his voice was a tad sluggish too.

"It's a dress, Ron," Hermione said, still looking at Harry. She had an expression of concern on her face.

"If that's what you call it," Ron said angrily, but his voice didn't rise anymore.

Harry couldn't help but agree. If he'd had a sister, he wouldn't have let her walk out in that--all sleek and white and shiny. He giggled to himself. 'Shiny, now that was funny word.'

"I think it looks lovely," Ginny said shortly, standing up, her white cloak clasped at her neck. "Again, I thank you Hermione." And she walked aimlessly onto the dance floor.

*~*~*

Draco held Pansy's large red silk gloved hand in his own, as he glided them across the dance floor to get a closer look at Ginny and Creevey. They seemed to be dancing a strange dance Draco had never seen before, but it was obviously well practiced as they didn't miss a step.

The two had been dancing together all evening, not once letting anyone cut into their special performance. Draco could see her soft red waves float in the air as Creevey twirled her around.

"We need to cut in," Draco said suddenly to Pansy, whose eyes were wandering to the ceiling.

"What?" she asked, "With whom?"

"With them," said Draco, nodding in Ginny and Creevey's direction.

"I don't want to," she whined, staring back to the enchanted ceiling. The fireworks were clearly hypnotizing her small mind. Draco huffed in annoyance.

"Wanna make the cover of the Society page," he asked, pulling on one of Pansy's many weaknesses.

"Maybe, why?" she asked, her eyes moving to him again.

"Creevey would be the man, well," he paused, "if you can call him a man, to do it," he nodded at Creevey again. "He's this evening's photographer. I would've assumed you'd have known that already."

Pansy visibly bit the sides of her already sallow cheeks, a habit she had when she needed to think. He was thankful that it didn't happen often as it made her look like a dead fish.

Gripping her hand painfully tight, he asked, "Shall we?"

Grimacing despite herself, she turned her cold blue eyes on him. "We shall," she answered.

*~*~*

Ginny smiled as Colin spun her out once more, but his hand let go of her own for a brief second, and it was replaced with a much larger and softer hand than Colin's. She didn't need to look up to the person who had replaced her friend, she already knew. From the mirror shine of his black leather shoes, the crisp crease in his tailored dark trousers, to the smell of his unmistakable cologne, it was all uniquely Draco.

"Having fun are you?" he asked, harshly.

"Tons," she said, looking up at him.

"Good," he said, his voice as equally harsh as the first time he'd spoken.

They danced in silence for a few seconds before Ginny finally spoke, "I thought you said you didn't need me. I thought you said you could do it on your own."

Draco paused, before answering, "I believe I need to explain my behaviour of the last few days."

"Explain away, but it's not going to sway my decision."

"So you think."

"Look, Draco," she said, the unique feeling of annoyance that only he could rise from her pulling at her temper. "You've already given me your half-hearted apology. I didn't accept it two days ago, and I won't accept it now."

Draco pulled her close to him, his hand sliding under her cloak to touch the bare skin on the small of her back. The force from his touch pulled her to the tips of her toes, shortening the distance between them by half, so he could speak clearly into her ear.

"Listen, Weasley," he whispered dipping his head, his breath tickling her throat, his warm fingers making her back tingle, "I've only allowed two people in this world to slap me without repercussion. Only sincerely apologized to three human beings and chased only one person in my entire life. Now, that might not seem like a great lot to you, but trust that for me it is much more than I'd like. It just so happens that you seem to be the only person lucky enough to fall into each of those neat little categories. I do hope you understand I wouldn't have been forced to say those things to you at the Manor, had you not attacked me-"

"Attacked you?!" Ginny cried indignantly.

"Yes, attacked me. You came into my home spouting questions about Mother, questions about things you shouldn't have known about, questions you had no business asking. How did you expect me to react? 'Oh, Ginny let me cry on your shoulder about my dying Mum.' Yes, I can see how that would have gone over well."

"You didn't have to hide it from me," she said. "I know how it feels to lose a mother-" but Ginny was cut off by Draco being tapped on the shoulder, and before she could react Draco stumbled back into her.

*~*~*

"I know how it feels to lose a mother-" said Ginny softly, her chestnut eyes looking up to him with empathy, but before Draco could interrupt her with a snide remark, he felt a firm tap on his shoulder. He turned to politely tell the rude individual that he and Miss Weasley were having a private conversation, but he was met with a glance of spotted knuckles, before they made contact with the upper half of his left cheek. In surprise, he stumbled backwards and felt Ginny's tiny body brace against his back.

"Merde!" he heard himself shout, slipping into his French.

"Nice hit," complimented Pansy, from his left. He saw from the corner of his eye that she was holding Creevey in an exaggerated dip.

"Indeed," agreed Creevey, smiling, his back, less than a foot above the purple marble floor.

Weasley looked at the odd dancing couple, then back to Draco and Ginny, his blue-eyes angry.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing with my sister?" he asked through clenched teeth. Potter, green-eyes filled with curiosity, looked at him and Ginny, over his friend's broad shoulder. He was holding Weasley's arm back.

Draco stood erect, one hand lightly on his bruising cheek, while the other's fingernails cut deep into the skin of his palm. 'You have to control the situation and not make a scene,'words his father taught him resounding in his mind. 'Control the situation,' he ordered himself, but his fingers were itching to grab the wand inside his jacket. 'Control the situation,' he repeated. He could not retaliate no matter how badly he craved revenge.

He quickly glanced around the room at the other dancers; surprisingly no one was paying them any mind. They were too enthralled with the loud music.

"I asked, what were you doing with my sister?" Weasley repeated.

"Well, we civilized people call it dancing, but barbarians like yourself might refer to it as something entirely different," he replied smoothly. 'Not my most witty comeback,' he admitted to himself bitterly, 'but it certainly stung Weasley.'

"Weak gibe," commented Pansy, twirling Creevey, his orange Quidditch robes swirling.

"Ron, what do you think you're doing?" whispered Ginny, ignoring Pansy. She was moving to stand before Draco. He was honestly surprised at how defensive she was when seconds before she had been the one ready to strike him.

"What am I doing?" Weasley asked, in disbelief. He was standing behind a disgruntled Harry. "I'm rescuing you."

"From who? Malfoy?" she laughed, much to Draco's annoyance.

"Sorry to burst your bubble my oh-so-chivalrous big brother, but the only reason Draco's dancing with me is that Mrs. Price," she nodded to Pansy and Creevey, "needed to speak with Colin, and I didn't feel like leaving the dance floor. He hasn't any other motive for dancing with me."

"That's not what it looked like to me," Weasley said, but his voice was lower.

"Maybe you should borrow your boyfriend's glasses, and you could see a bit clearer," whispered Draco. He felt Ginny's body shake with laughter against his chest.

Draco didn't know the male Weasley had overheard him until, the ginger-haired boy lunged himself at him, causing Harry to fall into Ginny. Draco took a graceful step back catching Ginny before she fell to the floor, and helped her sidestep Potter.

"Just be quiet, Draco," she hissed as he straightened her.

They all opened their mouths to begin arguing over the loud music when suddenly the room went quiet and one of those annoying twins walked onto the stage with the band. His light wand pointed at his throat. "Good evenin', Ladies and Gits," he greeted, his amplified voice booming in the large room as he was joined by his Polyjuiced double.

"Good evenin'," answered the crowd.

"Are we all having a good-time?" he asked, being answered with cheers.

"Good-Good," said the other boy, taking his black top-hat off, "Now, tonight we're going to start the dancing stuff off with…"

Draco didn't care to hear the rest. He rubbed his sore cheek and looked down to Ginny. Her face was glowing with anticipation as she looked up to her brother. He had come to the ball to try and talk to her and had missed his chance. He was bruised, sober in a room full of drunks, and for the first time in a while wanted to be alone.

*~*~*

"We're going to start the first dance with the Switch Off!" said George. He looked adorable as he smoothly placed his black top hat back over his red hair.

"You all know the dance," Fred started, "the lucky git you end the song with, will be the lucky git you'll be going home with."

Ginny felt her jaw drop. Did Fred just say that? she asked herself. But she didn't have much time to reflect on it as she was pulled into another dance step.

Callused fingers gripped her hand and she looked up into the eyes of her brother. The hat to his detective costume was askew and strands of his fine red hair were springing out.

"Don't lie to me, Ginny. Is that really what was going on?" asked, Ron, guiding her across the dance floor.

She shifted her glance to his light eyebrows. If Ron were able to read her as well as she thought he could, he would figure her out quickly.

"Yes," she lied, feeling the pain of guilt that had become all too familiar to her. "You know I'd never lie to you."

"I know," he smiled. "I just can't understand why he would want to dance with you."

"Thanks, Ron," said Ginny, falsely insulted.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Ron explained, sputtering. "Ugh, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," Ginny said, listening intently for the lead singer to scream Switch!

"Switch!" rang out over the room.

Ginny quickly switched to dance with the nearest boy; luckily she landed in the gloved hands of Oliver Wood.

"Fancy meetin' you 'ere," greeted Oliver, giving Ginny one of his charming smiles.

"Not really, since you've been avoiding me all evening," she answered.

"Me, avoiding you," Oliver said in disbelief, "I beg to differ. You and Creevey boy have been like two peas in a pod over there. Then you started to dance with Draco, and I assumed you would be with him for the rest of the evening."

At the mention of Draco's name, Ginny immediately scanned the room for him. She found him, looking down at her from the balcony, a brandy glass in his hand. She was amazed at how quick and stealthy he was, as he'd managed to fight the rowdy crowd of the dance floor, climb the tall staircase, and get himself a drink, before she had started dancing with her second partner.

"Switch!"

She lost her visual on Draco as she found herself being flung into the slightly tan arms of Harry Potter. She led Harry in a turn while she searched the balcony for Draco. When she found him again, he had someone standing with him--Pansy Parkinson-Price. The ceiling's charmed fireworks reflecting off the metallic pink material of her ball gown made her easy to spot. His face was set, and his eyes were narrowing as she looked up at him. Pansy was saying something very unpleasant, Ginny assumed as he snapped at her and turned away.

The voice of the lead singer didn't come soon enough for Ginny. It wasn't that she disliked dancing with Harry, but 'I hate dancing,' was the only statement he had made while avoiding her Mary Jane protected toes. He wasn't one for forced conversation and being this close to him, with no buffer zone of Ron or Hermione, was just uncomfortable, for the both of them. This time when the lead singer called the now annoying shout out, Ginny ran for the nearest wall. She didn't want to dance anymore. She felt the need to find Draco. Picking up both the hem of her white dress and cloak, Ginny walked quickly across the dance floor to the stairs that led to Draco's abandoned balcony. She took the steps two at a time, the sound of her unmatching thick black heels of her shoes drowned out by the lead singer's voice and the beats floating over the dance floor from the bands guitars and drums. When she finally reached the top of her staircase she paused as the music stopped.

"Okay," announced one of the twins, one arm around a pretty brunette bunny's waist. "Let's see who ended it up with who."

The fireworks halted, and a light pink spotlight rained across the crowd.

"I knew it!" shouted the voice of Fred. "At last Harry and Ron have decided to announce their love to the world. Let's give them a hand, people."

Ginny's couldn't resist letting her eyes follow the pink spotlight to where Harry and Ron were looking oddly at each other. They appeared to have been unknowingly dancing together, and quickly jumped apart.

The ballroom erupted in laughter, and Ginny was sure she could see Ron's ears turning a darker shade of pink from the balcony.

*~*~*

"Not much to look at is she?" Pansy asked, beside him. Her voice made Draco long to dig his fingernails deep into the balcony's oak banister, but she was attending on his request, so he gritted his teeth in silence.

"I said, not much to look at is she?" Pansy asked louder, obviously, offended by the fact the that she was being ignored.

"Might I ask who could be such a nauseating creature, that you can't bear to look at her?" Draco asked. But he needn't have asked or looked to where her oversized blue-eyes fell; he had an idea of whom Pansy was talking about.

She was speaking of Ginny, someone he had failed to pry his eyes from in the course of the evening. It wasn't his fault, they kept lingering on her; it was that damn red hair of hers. It was very distracting, like a golden-red beacon in a sea of lifeless colours. And it didn't help that at the moment she was dancing with Potter, her tiny freckled hands resting on his orange shoulders.

"You already know," she spat, "Since you haven't taken those pretty eyes of yours off of her, since we stepped into this dreadful place."

"It surprises me, how little you do know about me, Pansy," he said turning to her, for once this evening looking at something other than Ginny and her present dancing partner.

"I know enough," she answered.

"D'you now?"

"I know there's something wrong when Draco Malfoy mopes around after commoners, when he's failed to throw a single insult at a single partygoer. When he becomes obsessed with things he knows he can never have. When he apologizes to a Weasley!"

He looked at her, his eyes as cold as ever, his cheeks warming with embarrassment.

"That's right, darling," she drawled. "I heard the whole thing. But my God, Draco. You can't be acting this way over her; the girl looks no older than a seventh year."

He took a lengthy sip of his drink; the alcohol giving him a small comfort while Pansy carried on.

"But my what control she does have over you. You dress in your nicest robes and grovel at her feet, but still she fails to forgive you. My, my Draco. How far you have fallen? You can't even manage to charm that little speckled chit."

"Shut-it," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Not yet," she paused. "What is it about her Draco, that's got you so...disheveled? Is it that she's a Weasley?"

Draco took a deep breath, trying desperately to curb his temper. He needed to divert his focus onto something else, the pain in his cheek, the pain in his palm where his nails had imprinted half moons, on anything but Pansy.

"Pansy will you kindly sod-off," he finally whispered, each syllable holding every ounce of his Malfoy self-control. He could physically feel the tiny strings of his civility fraying. He didn't want to hear her screechy voice anymore; he didn't want to hear the lies she insisted on telling him. He didn't want to hear the accusations his mind had been accusing him of.

If Pansy would have known the anger bubbling in Draco, she would have minded his words, and had it been any other time, she would have shrunk away with her tail between her legs, but she was feeling a foolish rebelliousness inside of her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she hissed.

"Fine," he spat, picking up his nearly full glass. "I'll go."
He pushed passed Pansy, shoving his shoulder into hers, and walked out onto the balcony.

*~*~*

Ginny stepped onto the balcony and immediately felt the bitter October wind on her face. Draco stood leaning forward onto the concrete banister. One hand was bracing all of his weight, while the other brought his glass to his lips. His stature resembled a dictator looking over his country, but his unguarded expression was that of a king on looking at his dying land. Not saying a word, she walked to stand by him.

"Go back inside," he said. His voice was demanding, and his warm breath came out as a silver cloud in the moonlight.

"Since, when does a Weasley take orders from a Malfoy? The smallest to boot," she replied, playfully.

His body didn't move, but from the corner of her eye, she saw his head tilt. She kept her own head straight and her eyes fixed on the rough water.
"So, should we finish our row, now or later?" she asked, lightly.

He didn't answer her, but took another sip from his glass.

Ginny took a deep breath, hoping against hope that the next words that left her lips weren't going to be the worst mistake of her life.

"I honestly don't see why we should fight. I mean, I've decided even though you can be insufferable and childish and bad tempered and catty-"

"I get the point," he said flatly, still refusing to look at her.

"That I'm going to help you," she said ignoring him. She saw his shoulders straighten.

"Whatever happened to your principles?" he asked, mocking the word.

"Principles have nothing to do with it and neither do you. But helping your mother, would be like helping my own," she answered truthfully.

Draco, if it was possible, stiffened his shoulders even more at her last words. They stood in silence, Draco sipping his bottomless glass and Ginny nervously chewing on her thumbnail until its clear polish chipped white.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" she finally asked, when the cold wind was becoming unbearably painful and he hadn't reply.

"Not particularly." He drained the glass and set it on the banister. "Besides," He casually moved onto his elbows. "Didn't I tell you to go away?"

"No, you told me to go back inside," Ginny corrected. She wrapped her expensive cloak around her more tightly. The pale chiffon dress, Hermione had transfigured for her to wear was beautiful, but it gave no shelter against the North Wind on her nearly bare chest.

"See… You're cold. You should be inside with your Saint Potter, or that skirt wearing git, Jock McWood."

"It's called a kilt," she laughed, through her chattering teeth. "You should know that."

"I only know things I care about."

"You must not know much, then."

"Why do you do that?" he asked, his voice annoyed but deep and serious.

"Do what?" she asked innocently, looking up at him.

"You know what?" he spat facing her, his lips set in a thin firm line. "Finding everything so bloody funny."

She looked back at him unfazed by his impatient childish temper. "I suppose turning everything into a joke is how my family handles things."

"Well, it's not a very wise way," said Draco, looking at her. His once clear eyes now held evidence of his intoxication.

"Well, it's the only way I know how to handle you, when you're being the whiny overbearing spoiled brat you're being now."

"I don't whine," he said defensively.

"Then I guess you brood," she teased.

His eyes narrowed on her, and Ginny had to look away. She focused her attention back on the vast ocean spread before her and away from Draco's invasion of her personal space.

That night the moon was bright, making the ocean look even more beautiful than it had been reflecting the sun. The way the moonbeams bounced off the black waves reminded her of a saying Charlie had once told her, 'Beautiful but Deceiving.' He was talking about a special breed of dragon and not the ocean, but Ginny thought it could be applied on to both accounts. He explained to her how the beasts would use their iridescent scales to hypnotize, waiting for you put your guard down, before they struck.

"Beautiful but Deceiving," she whispered as she watched the black water break into white foam upon the rocks.

"Draco," she started, with a softened voice. "What I was trying to say to you earlier, before Ron so rudely interrupted us, is that I know what it's like to lose a mother. I mean- I know what it feels like-"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to lose her," he stated, matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, but if you do--"

"I won't," he answered, in a deep clipped tone that ordered the subject closed.

Ginny sighed, in defeat. He was going to be much harder to chip than she had thought.

"Well, it must be nice to have the power to deny Death," she said, trying a different tactic, but still finding her words inadequate. "Have you sat him down for a game of chess yet? If you need help, I'm quite sure my brother would be more than willing to give you a few pointers."

"Oh yes, it's quite fun. You should try it sometime," he said leaning onto one elbow. His voice was lower, but his tone had considerably lightened.

She felt his eyes studying her and for once felt self-conscious under his gaze, but forced herself to stare back up to him. In the moonlight, his face was almost ethereal: his skin unnaturally smooth and fair, his eyelashes like silver tassels rimming eyes that were like two silver marbles, lazily grazing her face. He had trained them well to hide his thoughts, and now was no different. But at that moment, Ginny would have given all the gold in Gringott's to know what he was thinking, her brother's words strangely ringing in her mind, "Beautiful but Deceiving."

She turned to Draco. Her mouth opened to tell him she needed to go back inside, but unexpectedly, he pulled her the small distance to his chest, his mouth covering her own before she could protest. She stiffened in his arms, but instantly relaxed into him when he slipped his hand underneath her cloak. Her eyes closed, and she tasted the cinnamon flavoured alcohol on his lips. As he parted her own, he allowed her to inhale his distinct scent, making her dizzy.

A shiver ran up her spine, as his left hand, his wand hand, roamed the exposed goose flesh of her back, underneath her cloak. She could feel the difference between his hands even in the intoxicated state he was drowning her in, by the thick cold band of his ring contrasting with the warm skin of fingers.

Ginny had been kissed by her share of boys before, but she couldn't manage to remember one of their names as Draco ran the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth. She found her fingers running through his neat hair, the freshly cut tips so soft against her skin.

She involuntarily whimpered in protest as Draco drew his mouth from hers, but smiled when he groaned into her neck.

"Gods, Weasley," he said catching his breath, quickly. "You taste as good as you look," he whispered huskily into her ear, before he switched to the side he'd unknowingly neglected. "And that's saying something," he added, kissing a spot that made Ginny go weak-kneed. He chuckled softly when, she embarrassingly grabbed onto his neck, to stop herself from falling.

Ginny stiffened as she heard a familiar throat clearing; she looked to the intruder, then closed her eyes hoping the image wouldn't be imprinted on the back of her lids. Behind Draco, lit from the faint light of the French doors, arms crossed over his chest, orange Quidditch robes blowing in the wind, stood Colin. The expression on his face was less than happy at the little performance she and Draco were giving.

"Fuck," she groaned, pushing away from Draco unsteadily. He wrapped his black cloak around himself.

"Oh, I'm sure you would have, had I not interrupted," Colin said, venom dripping from his words.

"Sod off, Creevey," snapped Draco, straightening.

"Your brother's sent me to look for you," he continued, ignoring Draco. "It's time to take the Prophet photograph."

"Colin, I can explain," said Ginny, abandoning Draco near the concrete banister.

"Oh, please do," Colin said stepping through one half of a French door, before Ginny. "I would really like to hear, why after searching the two-stories of this ballroom, so you wouldn't be left from the Prophet's pic, I find you lip-locked with Draco-Bloody-Malfoy!"

"I have a logical explanation," protested Ginny.

"Oh, let me guess. You clumsily tripped and landed on his face, is that it?"

"Colin," begged Ginny, an edge to her voice, as they swiftly stepped down the wooden steps of the staircase, "If you'd just let me-"

"How long has this been going on?" interrupted Colin, turning on her as they stepped onto the marble floor. His dark squinty eyes were twice their usual size and full of anger, behind the round black frames he wore.

"What?" asked Ginny confused.

"Well, I'd just like to know how long I should be counting back our friendship, to the exact day you started lying to me?"

Ginny was glad she didn't get a chance to answer, as she and Colin were being pushed by a tall blonde woman. Her temper was beginning to run thin with her best friend.

"Lita," warned Colin, as she dragged him and Ginny over to a large group of people, consisting mostly of Ginny's family members, standing before a floating camera.

"Let's get this over with," Lita grumbled, ignoring Colin and positioning Ginny between a sleepy Harry and Ron, "Get behind the camera, Creevey."

"'Kay. One, two, three, Smile," Lita ordered. Ginny managed a weak smile, as the blinding white light of Colin's camera's flashbulb flared.

*~*~*

Ginny sat on the floor of the barren hall, against the wall opposite her flat's door. She was staring tirelessly at the golden door handle, reluctant to enter her empty flat. Colin had refused to speak with her after he had taken her picture for the Prophet. When she asked if he was going to Apparate home with her, he'd spoken cold and clearly, giving the excuse that he needed to finish developing the pictures for the morning copy of the Prophet. Things hadn't faired any better with Draco as she watched him walk by, casting a glare in her direction, Pansy attached to his arm.

Ginny was no closer to opening the door, when a loud crash from the other side, brought her to her feet. Maybe Colin had lied to her and in his inebriated state had fallen and hurt himself. She quickly used her wand, unlocked the bolts, and ran in. But what she saw made her exhale sharply enough to be considered a scream.

Colin's framed photos that had adorned the sitting room's walls, littered the floor, reduced to splinters and glass. Their small overstuffed sofa was turned over along with their tiny television and bookcase that had been holding personal and Ministry books. Pages had been ripped from their spines and left in a pile on the bright green rug. Ginny turned her head, when a deep yell of aggravation came from further in their flat. The next sounds made her heart quicken. Footsteps, belonging to whoever had done this, were becoming louder as the intruder stomped his way back through the flat. The figure draped in dark brown robes, came to a halt at the arched entrance to the hall. His face was shielded with the hood of his cloak, but she could see his dark eyes looking at her. She motionlessly watched his hand big, firm, and armed with its wand, lift level with her eyes.

*~*~*

Draco laid in bed, unsuccessfully chasing thoughts of Ginny Weasley in her thin white dress out of his mind.

'Why did I kiss her?' he asked himself, taking another generous sip from the filled glass, Tink had made him. The Ogden's Old Firewhisky, burned from his throat all the way down to the pit of his stomach, and it was a welcome distraction from the realization of kissing Ginny Weasley. Not that he had disliked the gentle way she kissed, or the way she felt so fragile under his fingers, such contradictions to the strong witch she was. The problem lied in the fact that he had liked the way her lips felt against his own; he liked the feeling of power he had holding her against him, and how he longed to hold her against his body again, the scent of vanilla and sandalwood drugging him. He shook his head trying to clear it of impish thoughts of Ginny, and when he failed, he drained the glass and let it fall to floor with a crash of crystal and stone.

He yawned, enjoying the burning in his stomach. He'd figure out something tomorrow. All he wanted now was to sleep.

TBC

Liked it. Loathed it. Found a typo. Review and tell me whatcha think!

Another A/N: I've already begun work on the 10th chapter so it shouldn't take as long to get it out. Again I apologize for the delay.

Reviewers:
Thanks so much to: Kassidy-Yeah, I know my grammars horrid, thank the poor southern public school system for that, but thank you for the kind things you said about my story Ferggirl99-I hope you were able to finally read chapter 5 Blood of a Reptile-Thanks, I'll try and work on it as much as I can. Danielle-Thanks for the review and I hope I didn't dissappoint and you liked the ball. Evon-Your not stupid at all and I believe I answered your question in the chapter. Fierydragon1-I hope so more things fall into place. Thanks for the review. Katrina- You wrote an excellent story and I'm honoured to have you read mine. I hope you write a sequel to yours and come back for the next chapter of mine. Letylyf-I thankyou for the offer of Beta but I hope having three has cleaned up my grammar enough. But I thankyou none the less. Also, I'm glad you enjoy the story. I tried to keep it original and fresh and hope I don't dissappoint with this chapter. If I missed anyone I'm very sorry and I do thank you.