A/N: This took a bit in coming, but not nearly as long as it took chapter 6. And muchos good news. Chapter 8 (and 9 too, can ya believe it?) is already written. Meaning I swear on my honor it will be out within a month. Swear.
Thanks to: Blaise for giving me links to Madrid sights; Elaine for checking over my American mistakes; Tia for smoothing everything over.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling.
Chapter Seven
The Ice Queen Cometh
I'm in trouble.
The thought continually ran through Ginny's head as she paced her room. She couldn't seem to sit still. It was much more appealing to walk around her room; it cleared her head ever so slightly.
She most certainly was in trouble. Draco was gone and she hadn't one clue where she could find him. He'd left too suddenly . . . she had hoped to follow him home and figure out where he lived, but his not showing up with his car and then him Disapparating, how could she have followed him.
It wasn't even the fact that she couldn't find him. With time she was confident she could. But what if he left Madrid? What if something had triggered his suspicion she worked for the Ministry into full-blown certainty, and the reason he'd left so suddenly was so he could go home, pack, and leave the country?
But you can't be sure he even suspected anything, she reminded herself, twisting her fingers anxiously. You can't be sure he'll leave.
No, she couldn't be sure. But it was a very real possibility. One she would have to consider, if she wanted to be smart about this entire job.
So Malfoy returns home and leaves Spain, she mapped out in her mind. How can I prevent this? Her insides clenched threatening nausea as she came to the conclusion. She couldn't prevent it. Even if she miraculously found out where Draco lived this very evening and confronted him, nothing she could say would make him change his mind about her. If he suspected she worked for the Ministry, then she was stuck. She might as well resign as Creedmoore's assistant – if she failed this job, she would never be able to look at him again.
"Okay, Ginny," she coaxed herself quietly. "Let's not jump to the worst scenario. Think of other possibilities."
The one other option would have to be that Malfoy just needed to get away from her and didn't want to see her again. No suspicions of her working against him, no moving out of the country. Just plain and simple dislike towards her as a person.
And what made him abruptly realize that he needed to get away from you? a voice asked sweetly in her head.
Because I kissed him. The thought washed over her; her cold fear melted into embarrassment. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, feeling her cheeks burn at the mere memory of her lunatic action. What had she been thinking?
Only . . . that was precisely it. She hadn't really been thinking. There had been that moment of blind panic when she thought he was going to leave and she'd done the first thing that popped into her brain to get him to stay. She'd kissed him. She'd been acting on pure whim. A stupid whim, at that. And where had it gotten her? Absolutely nowhere. She'd been left alone, just as she'd feared before she'd all but jumped on him, and instead of feeling the simple horror of possibly failing the mission, she now how to contend with mortification and shame of knowing she'd kissed him.
Not that the kiss itself was something to be ashamed of. She felt her embarrassment shift away and had to struggle to keep from smiling. Ginny had kissed many men in her lifetime – ranging from a little peck on the lips with her brothers to outright snogging with her string of boyfriends – so she knew the good, she knew the bad, and how each made her feel. And the way Draco had made her feel was quite incredible. In the span of a few seconds she'd felt desire, abandon, excitement, fear, and nervousness, which all swirled into a mixture of one purely dominant feeling – bliss. If she had to describe that short kiss, with scarcely any tongue and lacking in duration, it would have to be the word breathtaking. She shivered and resumed her pacing, trying to walk off the sensation of what it would feel like if they had gone any further.
Of course, it had been impossible to tell how Draco had been affected. The only expression on his face had been a tint of amusement in the way his lips quirked up, and the mocking little two-fingered salute he'd given her before he'd disappeared. But he had left rather hastily; perhaps he was afraid because he'd actually enjoyed it. . . .
Of course he enjoyed it, she scoffed, crossing her arms and throwing herself down into a chair, annoyed with herself for over-analyzing the situation. He's a man. He enjoys women. But he certainly didn't feel anything but enjoyment, I'm sure. It was too short to be erotic and clearly he doesn't care about me. So desire and love are not what he felt.
But she was straying from her main focus. That kiss wasn't important in the slightest. She needed to figure out the basic question: what should she do now?
She rubbed her face with her hands, sighing deeply. Really, this entire thing was exhausting. Why couldn't she just take the night off? Go down to dinner with the rest of the guests, return to her room, read, perhaps have some wine brought up? No, no, that was unacceptable. She had to keep her mind open to the possibility that Draco knew her cover, didn't she? She had to be aware of the fact he could be planning to leave the country that very night.
However, a little food in her stomach would definitely help. And a tiny break wouldn't hurt. So Ginny dressed down into a pair of jeans and trainers, washed her face, piled her hair on top of her head, and headed downstairs.
Tonight's diners were Penelope and the Irish woman, Maili, with her son, Kevin, and his nanny, Shannon. Ginny hadn't seen the trio since her first night there, and likewise hadn't seen Penelope since her first full day. Then again, it hadn't been very long; she'd only been in Madrid for four days.
Four days? Ginny was slightly awed. In a way, that seemed like such a short amount of time – when she had already gone on two dates with Malfoy, this after she'd thought it would take a good week for her to find him originally – but then again, it seemed so long. She hadn't done a single touristy thing yet. The closest she'd come was walking through the city.
"Hello Ginny!" Maili greeted her warmly, smiling broadly. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"I've been busy," Ginny answered truthfully, smiling in return. "Hi Kevin, Shannon."
Tonight Kevin was in a better mood. He probably didn't even remember her, but he grinned back and waved. Shannon, however, barely grunted in reply.
Ginny turned to Penelope, if only to greet her and be polite. She still felt a flare of irritation when she remembered how the other girl had pried into her personal business. Penelope grinned at her while chewing a mouthful of food and waved with her fork. Since Ginny didn't want to seem nasty in front of Maili – who probably never held grudges and could quite possibly be the nicest person on earth – she returned with the best smile she could manage.
"So what have you been so busy with these past couple of days, Ginny?" Maili asked amiably, squinting down at her son as she wiped some gravy off his cheeks. He jerked his head away to continue eating.
"Work," Ginny admitted, spooning some potatoes onto her plate. She shot a glance over at Penelope, daring her to say something, but she was currently staring pointedly at the ceiling, chewing thoughtfully. "It's been nonstop," Ginny added.
"What do you do, if I may ask?" Maili looked across the table at her and smiled, tossing some loose strands of hair out of her eyes.
Ginny barely skipped a beat this time. "I write biographies," she said smoothly.
She could hear the surprise in Maili's voice. "Biographies?"
Penelope chortled into her glass, hence calling the attention to her. Ginny narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Wiping her mouth dry, Penelope grinned and commented slyly, "I've never met someone who writes biographies."
Who asked you, Ginny thought coldly, but Maili was speaking. "Yes, neither have I," she said. "I suppose biographists aren't a very, well, popular." She paused, screwing her face. "Is that what you're called?"
Ginny smiled uneasily, feeling both amused at how Maili seemed to disregard the fact she was mildly insulting Ginny, and also slightly guilty about lying to her. She was, after all, a very nice woman, the complete opposite of Draco. But Ginny was already in the lie too deep, and what did it matter anyway? In a few days they would be moving on and Ginny would never see her again. "Yes, that's what we're called," she replied, having no idea if biographist was even a word.
"That's interesting," Maili said, sounding sincere. It was probably only curiosity over what kind of odd young woman would want to waste her life writing about the lives of other people. "You strictly write biographies? Nothing else?"
Ginny waited until she swallowed her mouthful of food, mapping out a reply. "Well," she said, "I've actually only written one biography. And it's at the publisher's now. So when it comes to my writing experience, it's not very broad."
"You be sure to let us know when the book's out in stores," Penelope insisted, pointing her fork in Ginny's direction with a mockingly serious expression.
Maili didn't seem to notice how Ginny glared at Penelope or how Penelope was now snorting with laughter behind the back of her hand. "Yes, do," Maili agreed.
They were all distracted when Kevin made whooshing noises and began to pretend his fork full of potatoes was a broomstick. "Don't, Kevin, honey," Maili scolded gently. "Eat your food, don't play with it."
"But Mummy, it's a broom," Kevin said, grinning up at her like that statement made it all right.
"It's a fork, Kevin. You can play with your broom when we get back to our room," she promised. She licked her thumb and rubbed at Kevin's face, trying to wipe off some dried gravy she'd missed with the napkin. "Look at you, you've got food all over you. How do you manage to get more on your skin than your mouth?"
"Magic," Kevin answered proudly.
Maili looked back at Ginny and caught her smile. "This boy can't wait to go to school," she explained with an exasperated grin. "All he talks about is magic and flying on broomsticks."
"Typical boy," Ginny said with a shrug, and Maili laughed. Ginny then went on to explain how many brothers she had and how she knew a lot when it came to young boys.
Overall, the meal proved to be a pleasant distraction. Penelope kept pretty quiet after the subject had shifted from Ginny's work, and when Maili subtly attempted to get Penelope to join the conversation by asking her questions, she answered with a simple yes or no. Ginny found she was grateful. Something about Penelope rubbed her the wrong way, and she wasn't in much of the mood to waste energy being annoyed with her.
Ginny was barely done eating when Aderyn Okal stepped into the room, looking flustered. Her eyes danced before they found Ginny and settled on her.
"Oh, Ms. Weasley," she said, slightly breathless. "You have a visitor out in the foyer."
Ginny's heart stopped before it started to hammer in her chest. A visitor? Who on earth could be visiting her? Rapidly she ran through a list of names: Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, Humberto – perhaps for his money – or maybe –
Draco.
Slowly, Ginny rose, throwing a shaky smile at Maili. Penelope didn't seem interested – she was digging into her dessert with gusto and didn't appear to care about much else. "Excuse me," Ginny said, setting her napkin on the table.
She followed Ms. Okal out into the foyer. The older woman nodded and said, "I'll leave you," before bustling up the stairs. Ginny barely noticed her departure. Her eyes were fixed on the tall, blonde figure standing in the middle of the foyer.
It was Narcissa Malfoy.
* * *
When Draco Apparated to his flat, he expected Blaise and Pansy to be sitting on his sofa, as usual, idly awaiting his arrival. He had prepared himself for a verbal whipping – "What took you so damn long?" from Blaise; "We've got work to do, Malfoy, since you seem to have forgotten," from Pansy – and had established a brilliant lie of his whereabouts for the day; instead of meeting Ginny, he'd stood her up completely and spent his morning and afternoon strolling the streets (not such a lie) searching for wizarding shops and restaurants.
Needless to say, it came as a mild shock to find his flat empty, his couch void of bodies.
Since it was six thirty and Pansy had been adamant about leaving at seven for Athens, he was curious as to why they weren't there. Had they gotten tied up while researching possible entries to the Tannar villa? Had they hit a snag requiring extra time and possibly his help? Surely they would have tried to contact him by now; surely they would have left a note.
There was no note.
Draco was not worried; he was in fact quite annoyed. He knew they weren't caught. Blaise and Pansy were the masters of Dark Magic – at least, of those who were not locked in Azkaban – and had they been caught in the first place, which was highly unlikely, escape and erasure of any stay was a simple task for them. Hence, since they weren't caught, it was odd they hadn't come by to ask for his help. He was apart of the Plan too, as they consistently reminded him.
More than ever, Draco wished for access to the wizarding world. If he had known where there was one, he could have gone to an Owlry and sent a message to Pansy or Blaise, demanding to know what was going on. As it was he had no idea where an Owlry was; he had no idea where anything magical was. With the exception of Ginny's inn – of that location he had an elusive idea. But no, he refused to head in that direction. He never wanted to see her again. To do so would be complete and utter idiocy.
There really was no way to find anything wizarding, unless he were to wander the streets. And he was in no mood to do that, taking into account that that was what he'd done all day.
Blaise and Pansy were bound to show up sometime. He'd just have to wait.
Restless, Draco headed into his bedroom. He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled it open; there, leaning against the corner, was a trunk; one he'd bought because it reminded him of his childhood one. That one he'd lugged to and from Hogwarts for seven years. Of course, the two weren't identical – his Hogwarts trunk had been made of genuine dragon leather and pure gold fastenings, fully equipped with Scuff and Scratch Repellent. This trunk was Muggle, painted black with brass edgings. Yet when Draco saw it in that Muggle shop window, he had been filled with a longing – nostalgia, he supposed – that was very unlike him. For that reason alone he had to buy it.
It was the single thing he took with him to each new country, on each move, and it was full of the things he treasured. Yes, I treasure some things, he thought snidely. Though he didn't like people to know it. And considering everyone who knew him well (all two of them), not many really did know.
Draco lifted the lid and glanced in. The trunk wasn't completely full, but it was close. Nevertheless it could fit a whole lot more – all it needed was an Enlargement Charm.
There was a satin bag that contained expensive jewelry. The reason he kept that was self-explanatory. If he ever needed quick money, he would sell the contents. So far he'd never needed to.
There were a few of his favorite books as well – the ones he could read over and over again and never get bored of. But he pushed these aside; they were not what he was looking for.
Scattered along the bottom were a few Daily Prophets from years ago, each flipped and folded open to the page that contained articles about him. There was that time when he was seven that he'd led his Quidditch team to victory in the British Quidditch Cup (age group 6 to 8), and the article featured him swooping rather skillfully, if he did admit so himself, for the Snitch. Another article featured him the summer before Hogwarts and depicted him as "a champion dueler" who "hasn't even reached his teen years." The reporter had foreseen great things for this champion dueler, who had defeated everyone in the competition. The article did fail to mention that he'd been the oldest by two years – the only reason he'd gotten into the competition was by his father's generosity (or threats) to the judges – but Draco was entertained by how it portrayed him and had kept it. Various other articles littered the bottom of the trunk, mostly about a young, pre-Hogwarts Draco; once he'd started Hogwarts, news of Harry Potter and Voldemort were more coveted. There had, however, been one last article of him . . . his obituary. He hadn't kept it. He hadn't even read the entire thing. He could still remember scanning the first sentence and it was forever etched in his memory.
"Draco Malfoy, only son of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, was found dead yesterday at age 18 . . ."
On top of the newspapers was his folded green Hogwarts Quidditch uniform that he'd stolen, as well as a Snitch whose enchantment had long since faded. It was the very one he'd caught in the match where he'd beaten Gryffindor. The single time he'd beaten Potter.
Aside from the Quidditch paraphernalia were a few photographs. The majority of them were of Draco and various other Slytherins at Hogwarts; the only period of his life he actually enjoyed. There was one of Blaise, Pansy, and himself, taken on the last day of seventh year. Behind them, the scarlet Hogwarts Express steamed, while Blaise continually smiled. Either Draco or Pansy had gotten tired of smiling, or they hadn't been doing so when the picture had been taken. They both stared stonily at the camera, and as he watched, Pansy slid her arm around his waist. Almost possessively. Draco shook his head, smirking, and set the picture aside. That's exactly what Pansy had been when they'd gone out – possessive.
His attention was caught by another photograph, this one not of his friends. It was of his family. Draco brought it close to his face, studying it directly. Yes, he remembered this one. It was a copy of the professional portrait they'd had done back the summer before Draco's sixth year. The three of them were so stiff, the only way he could tell it was a wizarding photo was by how they blinked every now and then. Draco and his father, Lucius, shared an almost identical expression. It really was quite frightening how much his father reminded him of himself . . . but squinting at him, Draco was proud to notice he was better looking. He had his mother's genes to thank for that.
What a happy family, Draco thought cynically, tossing the picture back into the trunk.
Leaning in, he removed the one thing he'd gone into his trunk for in the first place. A box. Settling on the floor, he placed it in his lap. It was made of tin, and it was more of a rectangular prism than an actual square. He'd gotten it purposefully for its size – it was just what he'd needed.
The red box had been bewitched with several charms to make it nearly indestructible. As added precaution, Draco jinxed it so it wouldn't look hollow at all. Only when Draco – and Draco alone – touched it did the box hum, and a crack snaked around the width and length, hinting at an opening.
Draco opened it and found he was smiling; there, sitting innocently in the box, was his wand. It was like seeing an old and very dear friend again. He wrapped his fingers around it and lifted it out, admiring it in the weak sunlight that spilled in from the window. It felt delightfully familiar in his hand. To someone who used to use his wand countless times a day, not having held it in over a month seemed more like an eternity.
"Welcome back to the wizarding world, Draco," he murmured to himself.
* * *
Out of all the – Narcissa Malfoy – standing here – what in the world – why – what −?
Ginny couldn't even form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. She stood, stupidly, mouth slightly ajar. Narcissa was smiling at her, dressed richly in a charcoal Muggle skirt suit, a witch's black cloak thrown over her arm to prove she still kept with wizarding fashion.
"Hello, Ginny," she said coolly, stepping forward and holding out her free right hand. "I am Narcissa Yorick."
Ginny's brain jolted at that. Yorick. That's right. She'd gotten remarried, to some Scandinavian man. "Hi," Ginny replied, somewhat disjointedly.
She reached to shake Narcissa's hand firmly. The woman returned it with less force; daintily.
"I do apologize for coming with no warning," she said airily, her smile too wide to be genuine.
"That's all right," Ginny assured her, but that was not what was concerning her. She was far more troubled by the fact that she didn't know the woman. They'd never met, never spoken before; Ginny would've worn on her grandmother's grave that Narcissa Mal – Narcissa Yorick didn't even know she existed. That was no exaggeration, either. "How – ah – well, how did you find me here?" Ginny asked as tactfully as she could.
"Oh," she said vaguely. "I heard from the Ministry."
Ginny waited for more, but did so in vain. Narcissa crossed the foyer, stilettos clicking on the tile, to study the rainforest picture behind the front desk. Oddly enough, the animals were quiet. Ginny saw upon closer inspection that they weren't even in the frame anymore. She wondered if Narcissa had scared them away.
"Well, Ginny, I'll try and make this quick," Narcissa said on a sigh, turning elegantly.
She had soft features, Ginny noticed – a small nose, gently blue eyes, a delicately arched mouth reddened by lipstick. And yet Ginny sensed something hard and cold about her; the way her lips tightened, even when she was smiling, and how there seemed to be no kindness behind her eyes. They were little things that Ginny was sure others never noticed – little things she'd come to be aware of with every person she'd met, every since her experience with Dark Magic. She supposed it took one to spot one; as she had once been one, even if only for a short while and against her will, she could spot Narcissa as one . . . a Dark Witch. One with a well-meaning face but a sinister undercurrent. How had she escaped Azkaban?
Nevertheless, Ginny humored her. "Why be quick?" she asked brightly. "Stay, have something to drink with me."
"No," she insisted, politely enough. Her smile was beginning to resemble a wince. "I couldn't. I haven't much time."
Ginny's interest was rising, but she kept her expression even. "All right," she said. "What can I help you with, Mrs. Yorick?"
The smile dropped off completely; she adopted an overly serious air and took a few steps closer to Ginny. Her heel clicks seemed infinitely louder. "I know what you're doing," she said simply, appearing concerned.
Ginny froze. Draco's mother knew? Oh God, that had to mean he knew as well. Deny it, she commanded her brain. Deny it – she has no proof.
Except that she'd been to the Ministry. . . .
"What am I doing, Mrs. Yorick?" she asked pleasantly, smiling as though confused.
"Hunting down my dead son," Narcissa answered. She breathed in deeply through her nose as if she were calling for strength.
Phony, Ginny's mind hissed without warning. "Dead son?" she repeated, tilting her head to the side. Tonight her acting skills were red-hot; why couldn't she be so perfectly composed around Draco? "I'm afraid I don't −"
Narcissa held up a hand to silence her. "Please, Ginny, you need not hide the truth," she said firmly, a tremor of threat running through her words. "I know you are undercover and I assure you, I won't be telling Draco of your expedition. Perhaps if he were alive I would. But he has been dead for years. . . ."
Ginny was beginning to feel sincerely baffled. Just what, exactly, was going on? Did Narcissa honestly believe Draco to be dead?
I can't trust her, Ginny decided, but why would she lie to me? She couldn't think of any practical reasons. True, it was possible Narcissa might have no idea Draco was alive; she had been living in Scandinavia for the past few years. However, it was also true she had found out Ginny was searching for Draco, and had been able to find Ginny's inn. She couldn't be as cut off from the British Ministry as it would seem.
"So please, Ginny," she begged, and Ginny was startled to see her eyes were suddenly watery, "just go home. Leave my son's memory in peace. Whoever the Ministry saw here, in Madrid – it couldn't have been my Draco . . . it just couldn't. . . ."
Now Ginny felt off-balance as she watched Narcissa pull a handkerchief from her breast pocket. All of the sudden she could no longer tell if Narcissa was just acting. A second ago she had been positive the woman was up to something devious, but now . . . well, she really did look authentically upset. What does Narcissa know that makes her so positive Draco is dead? Ginny pondered.
"I ask you to please give it up," Narcissa sniffed, dabbing at the corner of her eyes so as not to ruin her makeup.
That made Ginny stiffen. No, she couldn't trust Narcissa Malfoy Yorick. She wasn't going to abandon her chance at a real career simply because she was asked. Especially by someone she suspected was trying to work against her. "I think I'll figure out if I should it up for myself, thank you," she said frigidly.
Narcissa looked up, eyes slightly rounded to show her surprise.
"I haven't met Draco yet," Ginny lied cleanly, "but I assure you if I do and I discover that the Ministry has made a mistake in his identity, I will return to England immediately."
Bit by bit, Narcissa's expression changed. Her eyes continued to glisten, but unexpectedly it was anger that shimmered from their depths, not sadness. Her mouth became a slash of red on her pale face, and funnily enough, she lost what color she had to begin with as she worked herself up.
"I see," she said meticulously. Her lips curved into a toothless smile which gave her the manner of one on the verge of insanity. "Well, Ginny, allow me to give you some advice?" she offered quietly. "It would be very . . . very wise if you left now. My son is DEAD," she barked, and Ginny unwillingly flinched. Narcissa moved until she was inches from Ginny's face, and her voice lowered back to its hushed whisper. "If you remain here, there will be some dire consequences."
Ginny found she was more annoyed than frightened by her. "What does it matter, then, if he's dead?" she demanded smartly.
If Narcissa's face had been fire before, it froze into ice. Her eyes glazed into something unreadable. "Don't be stupid, girl," she said composedly. "I'm warning you."
"Yes, I consider myself warned," Ginny concluded brusquely.
Narcissa gave a thin, brittle laugh and stepped back. "It's your life, girl," she said carelessly, yet with such a chill Ginny felt a shiver run down her spine. It was the first thing Narcissa had said that put a slight fear in her.
Evidently, it was also the last thing she would say. Without another look, Narcissa twirled her cloak over her shoulders, turned with a graceful swish of the hem, and clicked across the tile. In another instant the door had opened and closed, and she was gone.
Ginny remained where she was, trying to sort her thoughts. Her mind was brimming, swirling, with loud questions.
What had that been all about? – What was Narcissa playing at? – Did she think that Draco was really dead? – Did Draco know Ginny worked for the Ministry or not? – Did he have contact with his mother? – Had she told him about Ginny's employer? – Was Draco still in Madrid? – Where would he go next if not? – What would happen once Creedmoore found out she had failed? – Would she be sacked immediately? – Would she continue to be his apprentice for yet another few months? – Had she even failed yet?
"Argh!" Ginny shrieked, burying her face in her hands. This was all getting too much. It was too much trouble, it was too much stress, and it was too much . . . too much bloody Malfoy.
"You look like you could use a drink," came a voice.
Ginny jerked her head up and saw Maili standing in the dining room doorway, arms crossed and grinning. Beside her was Penelope, who had a knowing look. Had they been eavesdropping? She wouldn't put it past Penelope, but she didn't really think Maili was the type.
"Tough visit?" Maili questioned, somewhat gentler, noticing how upset Ginny was.
"We weren't spying on you," Penelope offered, recognizing what was wrong.
"Of course not," Maili said. "We were heading out for a bit of dancing – just came across you in a fit, is all."
Ginny gave a sigh, her shoulders sinking. "Yeah, it was a hell of a visit," she admitted. "I think I need a long night's sleep."
"What you need," Maili argued, her grin back, "is a good, strong helping of Guinness."
Ginny released a short laugh. "No, thank you. I'm not a big drinker."
"Come on," Penelope cajoled calmly, as though she had no real desire for Ginny to accompany them. "Don't be boring."
"We'll have a fantastic time," Maili promised, at Ginny's side in two strides and snaking her arm around her shoulders. "Besides, I need a break as much as you do. I never get away from Kevin much, and as much as I love the little bugger, I do need to stop being a mum sometimes."
"And I know all the places to go," Penelope called – quite unhelpfully – from the doorway.
Ginny glanced over at her and wondered briefly how the two got on the subject of going dancing in the first place, much less deciding to do so together. She really did enjoy Maili's company, but Penelope was something to be desired . . .
Then again, drinking herself into a stupor did sound awfully tempting. She was well aware that if she stayed in her room all night, she'd only sleep, which meant she would get no work done. Why not make a time of it and have fun?
She found a grin creeping over her face. "All right," she relented, smothering the tiny voice that was telling her she'd regret it. "I'm in."
* * *
A/N: Quite a short and quite an action-lacking chapter. But some important things are starting to develop, so it was necessary.
Coming soon: the three witches go out on the town and Draco heads on over to Greece. But that doesn't mean Ginny won't see him for a while . . .
dragongirlG (why thank you! Characterization is always hard to do, glad I'm doing it decently), Mrs. Butterfly Tom (Can you believe that I HAVEN'T seen the trailer for PoA yet? I'm so pissed! I saw The Return of the King – no Harry Potter preview. I saw Peter Pan – no Harry Potter preview. What's up with that? It's really bothering me. Argh. Anyway, ha, yeah, I did see Peter Pan and I thought it was kind of cute. Some parts seemed really childish, but hey, it's a kids' movie. Moving on . . . haha, exactly, a freak accident. Thanks much!), Jade Summers (ahaha nice one. This chapter didn't come out too quickly, but it was in less than two months, so yay), Brooke Kenobi (thank you! I'm truly flattered, and look – I'm blushing.), LilJenreeds (ah, thanks, stupid online translators . . .), Anonymous HGDV (nope, my hand is not broken . . . yet. Bwaha thanks for the concern, though. And you're welcome!), Nobodysbitch (This chapter was also quite uneventful – hope it wasn't boring, too. The American has appearances galore the next chapter, so never fret), Vanilla Sugar, Grumpy1 (haha thanks!), animefanatic_0_7 (thanks! That really means a lot), Calender (let's hope Ginny figures it all out and uses it to her advantage . . .), YvettE (thanks!), FlavaOftheweek (hope this didn't take too long in coming this time. Thanks!), Miss Auburn (thank you!), Hplova4eva (yes it did), sissy-6 (I know what you mean about chapter sizes, it's annoying when they're freakishly long but it's even more annoying when they're short), Vodk@ (thank you!), lauren (thanks for your comments. I never got your email, did I completely miss it or delete it somehow?), Ili (next chapter has been posted sooner, but not necessarily soon), Ni (haha thanks!), Bulma Greenleaf (oh thanks! I never really had writer's block, just not enough inspiration . . . meaning I knew what I wanted to do, I just didn't have the energy or the interest to do it. But I think that's over now!), Luna Writer (hope you had a Merry Christmas, too!), PhoenixFaerie (wow, two nights? I'm impressed. Haha thanks!), TrinMalfoY (ahh thanks for the wonderfully long review! It is curious, isn't it, how she's going to find him again? Hmm . . . Anyway, sorry about the conversations – sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. Thanks again, I loved reading what you wrote!), Static (thank you! That makes me swell with pride, haha), Bess3 (Thank you so much! I think I'm going to dive into Blaise's character quite a bit more, as well as Pansy's, so they'll actually have a purpose in the G/D hookup, not just The Plan. PS your review wasn't boring!), Y. Kuang (thanks, it's really nice to hear that!), sweetest sorrow (thank you, but no, no sequel for All You Need is Love. Sorry!), fulldark (haha, you bet!), Shooting Jewel (glad you like it! And you'll be glad to know I've taken your comment about the Spanish influence into deep consideration, and produced the next chapter chock full of it. I realized you were right, that they could've been in regular old England for all anyone knew, and it needed a Madridish touch. So I added some in! Glad to know you influenced my story? Haha. Desired Life is currently paused for the time being, but I really hope to get going on it again soon. Thanks!), Wander Aimlessly (thanks!), Clouds89 (yes, it was, wasn't it?), Erin Faith (oh, and I'll be glad to read your comments as my story progresses. Haha, thank you for the review!), Accalia2 (thank you! Yeah, Ginny is kind of embarrassing herself, isn't she? Ah well, it'll all work out in the end because Draco will end up falling in love with her . . . *sigh*), KeeperOfTheMoon (thanks, so do I!), WantingGravity (thanks very much!), abrokenheartj (thanks; might I warn you to steer clear of the Brother Amulets and The Return of Salazar Slytherin? They're nearly three years old and quite horrific), VioletJersey (thanks! I'll definitely keep your email handy. And you know what? You inspired me to use the Flamenco. You rock, no?), Purple Haze (thanks, I sure will!), Charmed-Goddess-07 (thank you thank you!), Laina3 (thanks, I try to make them believable!).
Very big thanks to Marek (Luinthoron) for the Christmas ecard – that was so nice!
Psst: biographist is indeed not a word. Just so everyone knows I know that.