Author's Note: Yay, Chapter 8! This is a happy chapter, all Christmassy and the likes. Um...actually, I don't think there's any icky, bad, grrrrrr parts. It's revoltingly cheerful. So, for those of you who read some of the later chapters and get depressed, this is the chapter you can come bac and read and feel all happy again...before you read the rest of the story and plummet back into sadness. HAHAHAHAHA. I induce bipolar natures! Weeeeeeeee! Yay.

Disclaimer: Not mine, unless it is. If not mine, is J.K.Rowlings. Me Author, you Reader. (I OUTRANK YOU!)

Dancing Life

Chapter 8: Holidays - Part 1: The Christmas Monkeys of Love

Blaise stirred from his fitful sleep. Stretching, he glanced around him, confused for a second by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then he glanced down at his lap. Heather's head was resting there, her eyes still shut in a blissful slumber as he recalled that they were on a train bound for France.

Feeling an uncharacteristic pull of affection, he reached down and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. She was so…perfect. Not that that mattered, but it did make things a lot easier. She was so much easier to love, because she was exactly what he wanted.

While more than half of the male population at Hogwarts went for the curvy, bubbly, blondes, Blaise merely swallowed his distaste for the creatures, and sought his ideal of perfection in another vessel. Basically, Heather.

He loved how tiny she was, and in comparison to him, she was like a child. She fit into his arms so effortlessly. He didn't have anything against the curvy or voluptuous type, but there was something about Heather that reminded him of a little girl, and when he held her, he felt like he was useful, had some sort of purpose. There was just something about that need for protection, like he was the only one who could provide it. It scared him sometimes how frail she was, but that was just her. And he loved everything about her. Her lovely long, dark hair. The gorgeous deep blue eyes that rendered her so mysterious and like him. She impish, quirky smile that stretched across her slight lips on the occasions she found something worth laughing over.

To his delight, Blaise discovered he had a knack for making her laugh. She appreciated his dark, Slytherin-like humor, and dry wit, better than any other Slytherin, not including Draco. Ginny liked it as well, and he had to admit, he had grown to be rather fond of the red-headed menace who drove Draco mad.

But he absolutely loved Heather. He found himself wishing almost fervently sometimes that they were older. Or at least, she was. He wanted her so badly, virtually having to forcefully drive thoughts of her from his mind. Sure, he'd been sexually active since his fifth year, but none of the tarts had meant a thing other than a way to relieve stress. No, Blaise knew that he could wait, even years if he had to, for Heather. In fact, his desire for her only strengthened his love for her. Because when he knew he wouldn't be getting…that…from her for some time (she'd made herself quite clear on that point), he'd looked for other ways to be closer to her. And then he'd found something he'd never expected to find, not in a million years.

Love.

He couldn't believe it at first. He'd liked her, of course, and with just a little more than physical attraction (for him, that was a lot), but he'd never expected anything serious to come from it. For Christ's sake, he was only seventeen. And she was just fifteen! Not old enough to do almost anything legally, she was apparently, old enough to determine love.

He remembered the first time they'd really kissed (the brush across the lips in Hogsmeade didn't really count), and she had looked so sure. It had almost intimidated him. Most girls, especially fifteen year-olds, were frightened to be so close to him, he being so handsome and rich.

She'd merely smiled up at him and pressed her lips to his.

He rubbed his fingers reminiscently over his own lips, scarred and slightly twisted from many years of Quidditch and his father's abuse. Unlike Draco's father, who preferred magical and medieval torture, Blaise's father, Colius Zabini, found a sick fascination with the more uncommon torture methods. Blaise had often played target practice with his father. An innocent enough game, save for the small facts that he was the 'target', and he was being aimed at with Muggle beer bottles. There had been others, too. Being tied up in a large sack, which served his father as a human punching bag. And of course, there was no forgetting playing darts with Colius. Blaise refused to speak of him, or even think of him as his father. He hadn't seen the man in two years, and he hoped to never have to again, being content to spend holidays and this upcoming summer with his cousin, Janet.

Blaise smiled and stared out the window, thinking of the one person, besides Draco (and now Heather and Ginny) who he could talk to and feel understood. She was the only thing (besides the comfort and support from Draco) that kept him going when he was still living with his parents.

One night, when he was fifteen, his father had had a large, rather rowdy party during the summer to strengthen his ties to the others in his social circle (basically all Death Eaters and the sort). Blaise remembered walking around in a stiff set of dress robes, welcoming and greeting people. How could he not remember? That was the night his parents had tried to force the Mark on him. Draco had been there with his parents as well, and they had been a part of the same scheme to try and add the talented two young Slytherin boys to their ranks.

So much happened so quickly, only the truly blessed parts remained in his mind. He recalled Draco and himself (along with some other forgettable boy going along on his own accord) being led to a secret room that reeked of fear, sex, alcohol, and most dominantly, death. Everything that happened in that room was a blur, until it came to the actual moment where his skin was to be branded. He could almost feel the cold beads of sweat rolling down his forehead; almost feel his limbs shaking from the memory of the hooded man holding a wand approaching steadily.

And then, glorious release. Janet had stormed into the room, breaking up the small circle. She had never bonded much with her aunt, Marguerite Zabini, Blaise's mother, so needless to say, Blasise didn't see much of her. But he had heard a lot about her. She had been a powerful, cunning Slytherin at Hogwarts with an arranged marriage. Her life had been set up before her, and she'd been expected to be a great Death Eater one day, perhaps as powerful as the Dark Lord himself. But she'd done something no person in the history of the Zabinis had ever done before; she declined the marriage. Her parents; sister and brother-in-law to Marguerite, had tried everything to get her to agree with them.

They'd tried to convince her; she paid no heed to their words. They attempted torture; she threw the curses and blows off with stunning magical and physical strength, even turning some of their own back at them. They'd threatened to disown her; she disappeared with half their fortune (which they'd made the mistake of banking in her name) and bought her own home in France, where she shocked them even more by taking up a girlfriend, an old 'friend' from Hogwarts who had become more than just friends.

Disgusted, her parents claimed they had no daughter. But that night, as Blaise stood, Draco at his side, it was most obvious that they did indeed, have a daughter, and she was back with a vengeance.

The next thing Blaise remembered, his father had the head of a pig and Lucius Malfoy (who had been the man wielding the wand) was hanging from the ceiling by what looked suspiciously like a large pink bow.

Janet had whisked the two boys off, having already summoned some of their things, and they were gone…all the way to France. She'd kept them the entire summer, inviting both of them to come back; she never wanted either of them to set foot in their respective 'homes' again, offering to go as far as adopt the two of them. Draco and Blaise had regretfully refused, but accepted her gracious offer and stayed with her during not only that summer, but the next as well. They stayed at either her house or Hogwarts during holidays, and the tall intelligent witch had become like a surrogate mother to the two.

She wasn't nearly old enough to be their mother, so they thought of her as an older sister.

And now he'd be seeing her again. With Heather. The grin picked up again. He knew Janet would like his girl; if not truly, then at least for his sake. That was the difference between Janet and his parents. She was allowing and forgiving. Perhaps it had something to do with her attraction to other women, but she was definitely loose, though still surprisingly firm.

Heather shifted from her sleep just as the train that was taking them to France came to a stop. She glanced up…straight into Blaise's unfathomably dark eyes. A small smile of happiness touched her lips. It was a smile that Blaise knew well- he'd kissed it more times than he could count. He did so now.

Heather sighed as he broke away. She sat up, leaning back against him groggily. "Are we there yet?" She yawned.

Blaise grinned. "Yep. Jan said she'd meet us here, so I guess we'd better start getting ready to get off." He suggested, rather miffed that they were having to break apart after her having just woken up.

As if reading his mind, Heather turned around and placed a fiery kiss on his lips. "Don't worry; we'll have plenty of time once we get back to her villa. We've got two weeks together." She smiled and touched her lips to the spot soft with hair at his temple.

Blaise couldn't suppress a grin, which lasted through the entire process of getting their luggage together, unloading from the train, and climbing the stairs to the waiting lounge.

It was with this same grin that he greeted his cousin. She was standing, in Muggle clothes, waiting for him, looking much as she had from the last time he'd seen her, over the summer. Of course, he hadn't seen much of her, as she'd spent much time with her new girlfriend. This one seemed to be pretty amazing, from what Janet had written about, including her excited letter telling him the woman had temporarily moved to her villa. She worked at some Institution in England, but stayed with Janet whenever possible, and was considering leaving her job to live permanently with Janet.

Blaise left Heather's side for a moment, striding up to a tall, lithe woman with black hair and fair skin, much like Heather's own complexion, except this woman had a dark beauty mark on her chin and her hair was cut rather short in a wispy haircut, gelled and quite spiky. Very chic and French-looking, especially with her touches of eyeliner and lipstick.

This older woman (she looked to be in about her mid-twenties) lit up into a smile when she caught a glance of Blaise. She quickly put out her smoldering cigarette, blowing a puff of silver smoke into the air with practiced ease. She leaned forward and enclosed her young cousin in a warm hug.

"Blaise!" She crooned, in a low, even voice, still smiling. He smiled back, moving back to take her in his gaze. "Jan, you look positively radiant." Heather couldn't help a soft smile at the warmth and affection in his voice. It was a tone she was getting to know well with him. Blaise turned around, motioning for Heather to join their little reunion.

Janet turned to Heather, taking in her outfit (one of her own design: long-sleeved midnight blue one-shoulder top with a pair of baggy black pants and boots) as Heather took in hers (a Docheri original from Paris: a maroon blouse and short black skirt and matching pumps), both grinning in subconscious approval.

"Jan, this is my girlfriend, Heather Rambinski. Heather, this is my cousin Janet."

Heather, a little surprised at the frank title Blaise had given her, held out her hand, which Janet took warmly in hers. "Please, do call me Jan. You will be staying in my house, after all. And besides, you're my favorite cousin's girl; the fact that you've got a strong enough stomach to deal with him makes you worthy of first-name basis rank." She grinned and Blaise scowled as Heather grinned back.

Muttering something that sounded like 'women' under his breath in a pretend scoff, Blaise went back for their bags as Heather picked up hers and, waiting for Blaise to catch up, followed Janet out to her car ( a recently acquired possession, as she lived in a Muggle villa in Capri).

Heather and Blaise both gasped as someone popped up from the hood of the car.

A blindingly pink-headed someone.

"Skye?"

Ginny woke up on Christmas morning groggily. She wiped sleep from her eyes and stood, stretching, and shivering at the touch of the cold floor on her feet. She quickly pulled on a robe and slippers and peeked around at the floor in front of her bed.

Presents!

She kneeled down, looking at the array of different-sized boxes on her floor. She seemed to have more and larger gifts this year, and it was with deep anticipation that she sat down by her pile of presents.

The first one she pulled from the pile was from her mother. It held the regular jumper, in a bright green, except this one was slightly smaller, less enveloping, and more form-fitting. She smiled fondly at her mother's creation, even more so at the variety of Christmas sweets (mince piece, nut brittle, and cake) Molly Weasley had sent her. Her father had sent her several Knuts and five whole Galleons! That was more than she usually got. Grinning, Ginny reached for the two largest presents, both bearing Heather's name, along with a holiday card.

Ginny's eyes lit up appreciatively as she pulled several articles of clothing from the first box. One was a long, flowing satin nightgown in a dusky, silvery blue color. Ginny rubbed the soft fabric against her cheek before pulling out the next one. It was a pair of jeans, though they were like no other Ginny had ever seen. Spiraling around the legs, as if wrapping them, were several rose vines, with realistic-looking roses spattering the pants randomly. The next was a skirt that positively hummed with the brightness of its colors. Red, orange, gold and yellow swirled around, making the fabric seem in motion. Ginny touched it reverently.

From the box came a light, minty-green strapless sundress that came down to her knees, a pleated dark green miniskirt, a pair of silky, oriental coral-colored lounging pants with slits up to the knee on the sides, a knee-length suede jacket with more oriental silk along the collar and lining, several tight, sleeveless, corset-like tops; one in jade green oriental silk (Heather seemed to be very enthralled with the silk creations), another in black leather with straps held by silver clasps, a third in dark blue cotton with three shoulder straps that would often fall off the shoulder, a red one in oriental silk with black lining on the hem and down the center, and a final sunny yellow one with gold strands twirling around the bodice.

Ginny smiled and pulled the final piece of clothing from the box. It was a gorgeous cape, with a full hood and everything. But the breathtaking thing about it was the color. Ginny didn't know what ink Heather had used, but the effect was quite magical.

Every movement seemed to change the color of the cape. It was overall a grey-green-blue-silver color that shimmered with different strengths of those hues at different angles. It was a light, silky fabric, and felt so smooth against her skin, Ginny nearly gasped. She smiled at the silver buckle that clasped the cape together; it was a tiny snake.

Ginny set aside the clothes, already thinking of the thank-you note she would send Heather. The clothes were so beautiful! She wrapped the cape around her shoulders, clasping the small buckle together. She was surprised to find that it was rather warm, despite its lightness.

She reached for the second box, and found it full of shoes. She laughed, pulling out soft brown bicorn boots that reached mid-calf. A pair of sandals, decorated with wide, oriental straps matched several of her outfits. Pulling out two more pairs of boots (one tan and suede, and the other, clunky black lace-up ones) she smiled fondly at the last pair of shoes.

They were definitely magical, probably running on the same form of magic as Skye's hair. The shoes changed color depending on the wished of the wearer. They were high-heeled, with thick, supportive heels, and rounded toes. Ginny smiled and they changed from black to yellow. She set them aside.

She reached for her other gifts. She got a book on famous bands in England, both Muggle and wizarding, from Percy. Charlie had sent her several dragon scales, which were some of the most breathtaking things nature produced, even more so because they were from a Mongolian Moontail, a gorgeous silvery creature, of which he had sent several pictures of; the dragon occasionally spouting fire in the picture.

Bill had sent her a necklace with a rather large ruby set in gold; from a Gringotts expedition to Egypt, along with a pair of golden lion earrings from his wife, Fleur. The twins had sent her ten Galleons for her help in producing a new product (Playing By Ear boxes) and a handful of the small silver boxes themselves. Ginny smiled, reminding herself to keep one in her pocket for whenever Ron tried to lecture her on her behavior.

She noticed that Ron had been apparently too busy to bother with sending her a present or card, and she thought with grim satisfaction at the guilt he would feel when he opened her present: tickets to see the Chudley Canons play over the summer.

She'd scrounged to get three tickets, and those were Harry and Hermione's presents as well. Only Hermione had sent her anything; two boxes of assorted, Muggle-chocolates (filled with toffee, vanilla, orange, strawberry, chocolate, coconut, and caramel fillings) and a cleverly woven anklet of red, orange, and yellow strings, which Ginny tied around her ankle fondly.

Even Blaise had sent her something; a book on healing, a class which she found extremely interesting.

She was about to stand and get dressed when she noticed a last, small box on the floor, nearly shoved under her bed. She knelt down and picked it up, puzzled. She flicked it open with her thumb, and gasped.

On a long silver chain hung a glinting opal in the shape of a tear. It glinted beautifully and shone with more colors than Ginny could name. She gasped at the magnificence and splendor of it. She quickly put it around her neck, where it hung, just next to her heart, where it would be hidden by her blouses.

She looked in the box, and found a small piece of parchment, carefully folded several times. She opened it with shaking hands, the box dropping to the floor.

For Ginevra,

The strongest woman I know. The woman who taught me how to cry. The woman who taught ME how to be strong. The most beautiful woman, the woman I love.

Draco

Ginny gasped, fingering the pendant. '-I love'. He loved her! She could have danced around the room right then, or, better yet, run down to the Slytherin common room to give Draco a big kiss and wake him up.

Her eyes were dancing merrily as she sat down on her bed, to write a letter to Heather, expressing her happiness and pleasure at her gifts, and describing the others, including Draco's.

Draco rolled over in his bed. It was still too early to wake up completely, especially on Christmas. He wanted to go back to sleep; there was nothing waiting for him, he was certain. No presents, unless Blaise had given him something. His parents never sent him anything anymore, and he had no other friends. Except for Ginny, and she wasn't exactly rolling in Galleons. He would do better to just stay in bed.

The excited murmurs and occasional squeals of joy from his fellow dormitory-mates, however, were determined to keep him awake. He sat up in bed and glanced wearily around. Today was looking bleak. Blaise was off to stay with his cousin and Heather, and Ginny was probably enjoying her Christmas with her brother and his friends.

He stood and got out of bed, nonetheless. He moved around to the front of his bed, and received several shocks, all in the shape of presents at the foot of his bed. He counted four in all; a major record for him, since he'd been about eight.

His mouth opened in surprise. He stared down at what was probably the most startling thing he'd seen in a while, not including Ginny standing up for him to her brother.

He knelt down and scooped up all the presents, depositing them on his bed. He read the tags carefully. One was from Blaise; that had been expected, TWO were from Ginny, and the fourth, surprisingly, was from Heather.

He opened Blaise's first. Inside was a dark green cloak with a silver catch. Draco smiled, remembering telling Blaise that his old one was worn out and three inches too short. He would appreciate the heavy garment, what with the freezing winter months coming up.

He folded the cloak neatly and set it on his pillow. He turned to his remaining presents, getting an old, almost unfamiliar feeling of excitement. He had presents! Plural! PresentS. He nearly laughed out loud.

He reached for Ginny's but stopped. No, he'd save those for last. He picked up Heather's present, grinning a little. He'd sent her a gift, for some reason, he'd felt it was the thing to do, as Ginny was sending Blaise something. He's sent her a silver lion's head pendant. Pendants were one of the few things he had; his great-great-aunt had left to him, under the mistaken assumption that he was a girl, a vast collection of pendants and jewelry. Several he had pawned, and it kept him going and able to buy himself things his parents denied him (they'd been first angry with him for refusing to get the Mark, and then his father had been imprisoned, and his mother fled the country with all their money).

He opened the box and nearly gasped. Inside was a complete outfit, no doubt from Heather's Book Of Shadows. He had to hand it to her, as he pulled the clothes from the box, he couldn't help but admire her skill. There was a pair of black corduroy briefs, much like his Quidditch pants, and a thick, smooth black jacket that reached just past his knees, but only buckled to about his stomach, in small silver buttons. A pair of shiny black boots with silver buckled added the final touch.

Draco smiled. The girl did have a way with clothes, and Ginny's gift of the book had been an intelligent and wise one.

He looked down from one box to the other, at his only two surprises left. He felt semi-ashamed that he hadn't thought she'd get him anything because of her family's poverty.

He reached for the smaller one and pulled the ribbon and lid off. He grinned and his stomach rumbled. She'd baked him his own Christmas dessert feast. Chocolate cakes, peanut brittle, cinnamon and almond nutbread, and small balls of some cake-like substance. He bit cautiously into one and smiled. She'd made him bourbon puffs.

While there wasn't enough alcohol in the pastries to cause inebriation, they still had a sharp taste, combined with cinnamon, nutmeg and powdered sugar.

He remembered when their old house-elf had made bourbon pastries when he was younger. He'd liked them a lot, nearly making himself sick on them.

He set aside his sweets, with a couple more swipes and bites. Brushing his hands on his pants, and picked up the last package. It was rather heavy and very large. He pried the lid of the silver box open and gasped, spewing crumbs of cake on his lap. Wiping it off, he swallowed his mouthful.

He dipped a hand in the box and pulled out a large, knitted blanket. It was thick and pliable; while not as smooth as silk, it was infinitely softer. He spread it out before him and marveled at her handiwork, for it was obviously hers.

It was made of, again, a dark green. But this green put the green of his dark green bed covers to shame. It was so rich and pure, it looked like it was almost unreal; just a color, and not fabric. Woven intricately were two silver snakes, winding around each other in a complicated pattern. Along the bottom, in more silver, read the words: For What Could Be And For What Already Is.

He smiled. She was brilliant. He was happier than ever that he'd sent her the pendant; his personal favorite, which he'd transformed into a tear shape to fit his meaning.

He stood hastily. Suddenly, the day had improved. He'd go see Ginny. If he caught her before she got to the Great Hall, he had a chance to convince her into having breakfast with him; almost no one was at school, and several people (her brother and friends included) had already seen them kissing.

He quickly pulled on the outfit Heather had sent him. It fit perfectly. He suddenly understood the odd, calculating looks the younger girl had been giving him; she was visually measuring him.

He stood and left his dormitory, quickly stashing his presents away in his trunk.