Readiness

Ginny slurped on a tall, frothy something while Hermione dragged her into Gringotts. She had a considerable cash deposit there, and Hermione knew it was due time to tap that deposit and spent it on something important: Ginny. Ginny just rolled her eyes at Hermione and smiled. She wasn't worth several hundred galleons of pure splurging money. Well, maybe she was just a little.

Hermione pulled the dazed and still sleepy girl to her safe, which she opened with a yawn. Hermione opened a purse and held it out for Ginny to pour the money into, which clinked at first, but after a while only the sweet sound of flowing money and lapping water could be heard. Ginny finished with what she felt was a considerable amount, but Hermione told her to throw in a few extra coins.

"We might get hungry later," she explained. Ginny just shook her head and jumped back in the boat. It was just too much of a hassle spending money that wasn't really hers. Actually, that was half the fun. She was just really tired. And hung over. That nightcap she had last night wasn't really a nightcap… It was more like half a bottle of rum. But rum was okay: It chases away all of your problems, right?

As they stepped out into the bright sunlight again, Ginny winced. She looked very green, and it wasn't her shirt, though her shirt did make her look a tad pasty. Hermione noticed Ginny's sick face and shook her head.

"You know, alcohol is a disgusting and vile drink. You shouldn't drink so much before bed." She began rummaging around in her purse, the Hangover potion had to be in there somewhere.

"It's not that bad when you are forgetting," Ginny moaned.

"Who are you trying to forget, yourself?" Hermione found the small vile and held it out to Ginny, who took it quickly and drank it. She instantly shook her head and blinked several times. It was really potent, that stuff.

"Not myself," Ginny wheezed, the sudden after-kick coming to her. She felt the slight fire rise in her throat and she breathed heavily. "Dean," she coughed. "What did you put in that?" she choked.

"Oh, nothing. Just a little Fire Sauce, to remind myself that I was drinking again. Or Harry. Or today, you. It really is nasty, isn't it?" She smiled devilishly and rubbed her hands together. "But. That is off our original mission. We are going to see Lavender. Right now." She took Ginny's hand and blinked, and – in literally the blink of an eye – they were standing in the main office of the Witch's Weekly.

"Hermione!" A cheery voice called. "How's my favorite Auror today?" A very pretty blonde witch walked out from a concealed wall and breezed toward the two women in the hall. "I received your letter, and I have everything ready. Where is she?" She gazed around, and finally laid eyes on the scraggly girl.

"Ginny! Oh, it's been so long I forgot how you looked. You are so pretty! Has anyone ever told you that?" Lavender took Ginny by the shoulders and began walking toward a wall with her. Hermione laughed a bit and followed suit, knowing full well that Lavender was only saying that because Ginny was loaded.

"Well, actually, no. Not many people have said anything like that to me." Ginny was blushing, and it was obvious.

"Well, I have a few things we're going to do today." Lavender surveyed Ginny. She was wearing her hair in a ponytail at the nape of her neck; she wore no makeup; her shirt was an off-green, almost the color of a football jersey; her jeans were old and faded, and fell to the floor; and lastly, but not leastly, she was wearing old, blue Converse All-Stars. Her hair was kind of straight and curly at the same time. Her smile was an off white, but that could be fixed. Lavender almost choked. She had never had a case this bad before, but she wouldn't be the make-over goddess if she couldn't fix sorry cases like Ginny's.

"What are those?" Ginny asked, pointing at a few barbaric looking tools in the hallway.

"We are going to take things as they come," Lavender sighed as she showed Ginny a very comfortable leather chair. "Firstly, I think we'll cut your hair a bit off the ends, to root some of the nastier split ends out. Then we'll really start with a nice shampoo, then a fortifying conditioner, then some hot oil. I don't think we'll mess with your color – you have the perfect blend of red and gold, that would be a shame to color. Then, I think we'll curl your hair into tight ringlets, you know, like a perm. That will be it for now." Lavender didn't really seem to be talking to Ginny, and in truth, she wasn't. There was a team of highly-trained witches and wizards right behind her. There was a flash of light, and then Ginny's world was changed for the better.

Suddenly, a bib was thrown over Ginny, and a pair of scissors went shearing through her hair. She was a tad shocked that it would all happen so fast. A few minutes later, her hair was an inch shorter and layered a bit. Since her hair was really long to begin with, the layered part of her bangs hung and hugged her face like a glove, and really flattered her eyes a great deal. Then just as suddenly as the haircut began, the shampoo began. Her head was tipped back over a very comfortable neck-sink, and her hair was washed, with magic of course, so every bit of dirt was scrubbed from her hair. Then, of course, a nice conditioner followed, which smelled of tropical melons and rain. Then her hair was drenched in something cold and greasy. Indeed, this was the self-warming hot oil that had been so celebrated by the Witches Weekly. There was another snap of light from somewhere and Ginny blinked rapidly, unsure of what was going on.

Her hair was rinsed with warm water and then towel dried. She was sat up and dusted off. Then the curling began. One spell sent dozens of fat spirals wild in her hair, twisting and twirling themselves in her hair. Just when she thought the day couldn't get any stranger, another cold liquid was squeezed on her hair. This time, it didn't get warm. It was bitterly cold.

"What is that stuff?" She asked someone randomly.

"It will help your hair curl," the person responded lightly. Ginny sighed heavily. However, the perm didn't take that long to perform. See, when you are a witch working for the hottest magazine in the wizarding world, you know that it should only take five minutes to get a perm pressed and dried. Deadlines people! Deadlines!

Soon, Ginny was whisked away to a small, quiet room. It was warm, and white. There was steam everywhere, and a very hot male attendant at the door. Lavender showed up with Hermione, who had also had her hair "cleaned" as Lavender called it. Hermione giggled when she saw Ginny, and she took her in a hug.

"Ah sweets, your hair looks so cute."

"Thanks. I don't even know what it looks like yet." Ginny squeezed Hermione a bit before letting go. Lavender walked up to each of them and waved her wand over their heads, which sent every strand of hair on their heads to the top. She placed a holding charm over the hair, which could only be lifted by her person. And the hair didn't dare fall – too much work had been put into the process of perfecting it.

"Now it's time for a skin cleansing mud bath, followed by every exfoliant, moisturizer, and purifying agent we have to throw at you." Lavender walked over to a radio and turned on some music. It was old-time trio jazz, with only a bass, piano, and percussionist. The tune was not fast, but not slow. It was relaxing. "Take off all your clothes and step into the bath. I will be back in twenty minutes, and the mud shall have done its job." She turned and left, with the hot man. Ginny fell a little.

"Well, I guess there's no time like the present," she sighed as she took off all of her clothes. Hermione followed suit. They stepped into the bath at the same time and instantly relaxed. It was heaven. Or so they thought.

It really turned into heaven when the hot attendant came back with a tray, laden with two tall, yellow drinks with umbrellas and pink straws. He set the tray down and winked a bit. "These are from Lavender," he cooed. Both Ginny and Hermione melted.

"I know I'm supposed to be engaged," she sighed to Ginny. "But he might be worth breaking my vows." She raised her eyebrows and took a drink. "Bottom's up," she said as Ginny raised the other glass. It clinked a bit, and they smiled…

Twenty minutes later, Lavender came in to check on her best friends. They were neck-deep in the brown goop, and loving every minute. She smiled and clapped her hands. They started, but they smiled a bit.

"Time for your facial!" She chirruped. They began to rise, and immediately, the mud began to disappear from around them. They sank back down as water filled the tub, washing them clean. The almost hot water cleaned all of the mud away, and relaxed the women even further. "Now get out!" Lavender called over her shoulder. Hermione and Ginny rose out of the steaming water, only to find that their clothes were gone. They found big, fluffy white towels instead, which they put on and wrapped tightly around them…

Less than a half an hour later and several pictures more, their skin and faces were scrubbed and moisturized and fussed about until each was radiant and sparkling and perfect. After the facials, Hermione and Ginny were taken to very big, very comfortable couches, where they received full blown manicures and pedicures. After more pictures, Lavender whisked them away to makeup and hair, where each would be fitted to the perfect face and hair style. Ginny's hair stylist introduced himself as Mark, and Hermione's hair stylist introduced herself as Bambi.

"Now, Ginny, with the curly hair, all I can envision is everything piled on top and tumulting down. Like this… " Mark waved his wand over her head, and her hair fixed itself. It was very pretty, with a bun-like thing at the top, and the curls falling around the back of her head very prettily. Snap! The camera flashed behind her.

"That's nice, but I want sexy," she told him. He frumped and waved his wand over her head again, and her hair fell back down again. He sat and thought for a bit.

"Ah ha! I know what would be perfect." He waved his wand over her head again, and her hair began a slow weave around the top of her head. It knotted and twisted here and there, and finally came to rest in what looked like an upside-down bird's nest on the top of her head. It was smooth and elegant, and not in the least bit cute. It was smoking. Mark leaned forward and pulled something from the table in front of her. He pushed something in random spots on the top of her hair, and stepped back. Ginny's jaw dropped.

Her hair, her hair, was gorgeous. There were small flowers intertwined with the weave, and a few curly strands fell down in the back very delicately. Around her face, a single strand curled slightly. There was glitter somewhere in her hair, because it sparkled at her and winked when she moved her head about.

"You don't have to worry about your hair falling out, because I can put a holding charm on it that only you can undo." He smiled and placed his chin on her shoulder.

"Wait!" Lavender called from her hover over Hermione. "I have to see… " This is when Lavender nearly gave herself asphyxiation from the gasp that ensued. "Oh my god!" she giggled hysterically. "That is gorgeous! Mark, you are a god!" She hugged him and he laughed a little.

"I wanted curls to fall down the back, to let people know that she really did have long hair, and I though the flowers were a nice touch." He smiled and he and Lavender French-kissed. (You know, the way the French kiss.)

"That is it! That is as far as you go, missy," Lavender told Ginny as she turned to Hermione. "Good, you're done too. Now, before we do your makeup, we have to get you into a dress! I have reviewed your measurements and heights and weights, which narrowed down what type of dress to get you, and then I analyzed each of your skin tones." She turned to Hermione first to tell her what type of dress she would receive.

"Now, you have a natural bronze, and I thought we could really bring that out with a pink of some shade." She held out her hand and a book was handed to her. She picked up strips of fabric and held them against Hermione's skin. "Choose the color that you like best," she squealed. "It doesn't matter which one, because all of them will match you." Hermione thought a bit, then picked a smoky shade of pink. Lavender handed that fabric to what appeared to be a tailor, who disappeared.

"Now you, Ginny, have a very pale complexion. I took the liberties of choosing your dress for you, since you allowed me to choose. You will love it." She took Ginny's hand and tugged her to a black-covered mannequin. "Brace yourself," she whispered as she took a fold of the fabric in her hand. Ginny nodded and closed her eyes. The sound of fabric being taken away was heard, and then Ginny opened her eyes, and gasped again that day.

The dress was more perfect than her hair. Imagine this: A floor length ballroom dress, strapless, completely black. On the very top fabric of the dress, a silver lining could be found. From that thin silver lining, a slow waterfall trickled and tapered off into nothing at the bottom of a V-shaped corset bottom. The bottom of the dress seemed to be made of unfathomable amounts of black gauze, and it belled to a beautiful finish at the floor. The very bottom of the dress held a field of tiny silver flowers that swayed when the bottom of the dress swayed and a few silver butterflies that seemed to be living right on the dress. They would flit about of their own accord, and if you moved, they would fly about as if you scared them.

"Oh, I love it!" Ginny gushed from her chair. She made to get up, but Mark held her still. He waved his hand over her hair and muttered a holding charm, and only then did he let go of her. She rushed into Lavender's arms and hugged her tight. "Thank you," she mumbled. "Thank you so much." A flash of light snapped and Ginny pulled away. "And what the bloody hell is up with all of the cameras?" she almost roared, her temper coming into play.

"Slow down there," Lavender laughed. "I was building a scrap book for you so you could see your transformation." At this point, Ginny began to laugh softly too.

"Thanks," Ginny hugged her again.

"Uh, Gin," Hermione called from her seat as the tailor walked in with her finished dress. She too was very pretty; her hair was braided intricately on the back of her head, and it flowed to a silky mess of twisted strands littered with flowers, her skin was flawless. "We have to get going here in twenty minutes. Let's get going!" With that, the makeup artists set to work at putting each of the girl's good looks to use.

At the end of the – believe it or not – six hour day, Ginny and Hermione walked out of Witches Weekly at four p.m. with a very fabulous look. There were shoes and masks that matched the dresses, which Lavender nearly forgot, and a great scrap book of Ginny's transformation. They had also been bundled up with loads and loads of hair, face, body, and nail care products, and a great new wardrobe, not to forget their fabulous dresses for the ball. Both ladies apperated to their separate houses, planning to meet at Hermione's in one hour, ready to go. They planned on showing up at the party a little early, to see who might be there.

However, that hour would prove too long for Ginny. She was just too excited.

Draco had lain in bed for most of the day while his house scurried about in preparation for the ball and feast. He didn't want to go, and so he figured lying in bed would solve his worries.

It didn't.

Instead, he was wondering what kind of food his mother had planned, and what music his father would play, and who was coming. But he knew that it was the last party he would ever have as a free man. Saturday week was this week, in less than four days, to be exact. He didn't know how, but he knew he couldn't let a marriage happen, not yet, not with someone he wasn't in love with. And he knew that he couldn't fall in love as easily as some, which is why he liked being alone. Someone would have to crave solace as much as he before he would even give her thought.

Around three-ish, Snape knocked on his door, wondering what could be keeping the boy. "Go away!" was all he could hear from the outside. He knew Draco disliked the whole idea, but Snape knew that marriage was, frankly, for his own good. Someone needed to ground him, and a wife would do just the thing.

"Draco, you need to let me in. I have your clothes for tonight."

"I don't want them."

"Plan on going naked then?"

"Yes."

"I have a nice mask for you too… no one will know it is you underneath it all." Snape paused. There was no reply. However, the door clicked open and he pushed it the rest of the way open, only to close it right behind him. "You know, I am only supposed to be your tutor, but your father can be very persuasive when he wants things done for you."

"How much did he pay you this time?" Draco sighed as he settled back under his covers.

"Quite a bit."

"I thought as much."

"Well, what do you expect?" Snape asked as he trooped around the room, hands behind him. "He's very wealthy, and he has to spend it somewhere. Why not me?"

"To him, you are a traitor. Especially when you helped bring down his precious lord… " Draco flipped on his side and stared at the closed and shaded window. Snape cringed at his words.

"Yes, well… " he coughed. Draco knew what was going on in his mind… 'The boy is right, you know he is… '

"Anyway." Draco sat up and stared at the black on the chair by the foot of his bed, his crisp word dismissing the man.

"Yes, all right then." Snape nodded and quickly left, shutting the door behind him. Draco sighed again and fell back against his pillows. He didn't want to do this! He gazed at the clothes and shuddered. Tonight was the last night of his life as he knew it.

Grudgingly, Draco rose and slipped on some clothes, but not the gala party suit his father wanted him to wear. He wore regular, comfortable clothes suitable for a day outside. With some relaxing street shoes on and a his wand shoved deep in his pocket, Draco opened the French doors leading outside and stepped on the balcony. He would just climb down and run for a while. Where, he had no idea, but he knew that all he wanted to do was get out and run.

A few quiet moments later, Draco was jumping off his favored gazebo, then running through the garden, then into the trees that surrounded his home. In and out and in and out of line with trees, darting branches, jumping logs, splashing through streams. Draco was running as fast and as far as he could before anyone took notice that he was gone. He felt alive as he ran, like life was coming back into him. He felt… free.

"Draco!" His name was called from the castle, which suddenly wasn't as far away as he had hoped. He ran faster and faster, knowing that if he could break the trees he would be clear of his old life forever – the marred record with the Ministry, the yearning to succeed, his father. Mostly, Draco was running away from his father. That man had tortured him in so many ways that he had lost count, like the time he invited the Parkinson family over to the Manor just after she had terminated the relationship. The bleak, dark childhood he had to endure because of that man… It was pure and total torture.

"Draco!" The voice calling him was Snape's. He pumped his legs harder, but he couldn't feel them anymore. He was numb; numb to everything. Nothing made sense anymore. He was treated like a piece of property, not a son or heir. That was all he was. A possession.

"Draco!" The voice that called to him was right in front of him. Draco rammed into something hard and fell flat on his back. His unseeing eyes wandered up the length of the figure and came to rest on Snape's face. He shook his head and tried to get up, but fell down every time he gained any kind of leverage. It was as if he was scrambling away from Snape, though he was not. He was just trying to stand. Snape reached a hand out to the boy, but Draco pushed his arm away.

"No!" he growled. "I won't be a pawn for my father!"

"You aren't a pawn, you are his son." Draco fell again and laid there, exhaustion taking him. "He loves you, even if it is deep down and buried in his heart." Snape waved his wand over Draco and the boy began levitating, and with a pull on his wand, Snape was able to raise Draco up without touching him. "And even though you may hate him, you still need to honor him as your father. Imagine what would happen if he disowned you. The shame… "

"Well, shame would be better than scorn. Then I would know how he truly felt about me." Draco was still floating.

"Don't drive your father to hate you, because he doesn't." Snape set Draco on the ground and released him from levitation. Draco shook himself off, then stared at Snape.

"How do you know this?"

"If you were my son, I would be damned proud of you."

Draco shook his head and closed his eyes. In a flash, he was back at the Manor, sitting in the gazebo. Though it wasn't anyplace special on the grounds, it was dear to him. The calm white wood and open roof made his heart mellow out when he was severely angry and knew he would harm someone if he was close enough. The roses that surrounded the whole of the outside were colorful and fragrant as only a wizarding gardener could make them. There were reds and pinks and oranges and yellows and whites of all different shades, and then there were the more vibrant hybrids. There were blues and purples and greens of varying shades, but the black rose was his favorite. The flower was a rich, deep black that told of sinister things, and the fragrance was a mix between rose and lilac, which gave off an alluring, powerful scent.

There was nothing more that he could want from life than he could find in that gazebo. Peace, solitude, love, hate, dreams. Everything was perfect in that special place of his. And it was his. No one else went to the gazebo, save him, which made the serenity almost sacred.

"Draco!" Snape called from the garden. Draco shuddered and coiled up in one of the shady seats. He wouldn't go out, he wouldn't… "Draco!" Snape called again, peering into the gazebo. "There you are. Your father would just like a word."

Draco rose grudgingly and sighed heavily as he followed Snape into the castle. Seeing his father was the last thing he wanted to do. He would rather die than ever see his father again. There were lots of things he would rather do than see his father… like kiss Potter full on the mouth. And he was a Malfoy, and would never even dream of such a thing, but if it meant not seeing his father, he would do it. Snape knocked on the door to the study before Draco had realized what was going on. There was no way that he was going to go in there alive.

"Ah! Draco, my boy," Lucius called from his desk. "Do come in, won't you?" How could he be so cheery? What was so God-damned good that made him smile like that?

"Hello," Draco nodded as he walked into the cool, dark room slowly. There was nothing more that he wanted than to turn and finish his run; a new, sudden strength had come to him and he had the power of ten hundred sprinters.

"I am guessing that you want to know what your future bride is going to look like, am I right?" Draco sighed and nodded, hoping it would speed the time spent in the same room up. "All right, here you go. She has long, bright red hair, and pale, freckled skin." Sounds like a real winner. "Her eyes are a bright green, and she has so many curves she puts a circle to shame." Yep. A real winner.

"She sounds nice." Draco tried to sound happy, but he wasn't sure if he could convince his father of it.

"Yes, she is. Now, I have one small task for you to perform before you change." Great! Something that can get him away from him… "I want you to light the garden. I know we have house elves usually do it, but they are all tied up with cooking and what not, so if you would be so kind as to do that, thanks." In an instant, Lucius turned back to his work. Draco was puzzled, but he rose and nodded.

"It'll be done right away." With those few words, he left the study and walked back out into the sunlight. It was so warm and refreshing, it made everything feel so right, even though it was all wrong. In a flash, Draco had his wand out and began waving it lazily over the plants. This would have been so much better if he had been completely alone.

It would take him an hour if he worked fast, but Draco planned to be outside until someone dragged him in. And that was almost what happened. See, Draco covered every bush and shrub in the garden with a sprinkling of enchanted lights that would light up as the sunlight faded and dim and disappear as night turned to morning. He barely dusted the outskirts of the pathways and balconies, but he did cover the fountain in the center of the garden with the tiny lights. They landed in the water, on the rims, on the ground around the basin. It would really glow when night came, which happened to be not far off. As the sun began it's seemingly slow descent from the sky, Draco was just putting the finishing touches on the second to last item in the garden. He had yet to decorate the gazebo.

He sneaked around the garden, making sure that no one was around, and ran to the hollowed place. He let his wand fly, covering every rose petal and leaf in what looked like glowing dew. He traced the outside well, then gave the inside a once over. Needless to say, the gazebo looked like heaven once he was done. It glowed and shimmered slightly, and made a slight humming noise. No wait, that was the orchestra inside.

Draco shuddered again, the reminder of his cruel fate playing once again in his mind. He shook himself off and began to wander around the now-sparkling garden. The sun had turned into a red and orange hash beyond the hedge border, and all Draco could guess was that it bathed the surrounding land in fire. He sighed, wishing once again he could disappear like the sun, but he knew he couldn't.

"Draco! It's time," Snape called from the balcony that led into the ballroom. With a heavy heart, Draco entered the castle to get dressed for the last party he would attend as a free man.