A/N: Thanks to everybody that reviewed the last chapter. I decided to change the summary to hopefully draw in more readers, my sincerest apologies if that confused anybody.

It wasn't hard for Blaise to find people to go to the bar with him. He had a lot of friends during his Hogwarts days, which, though it seemed longer, were only four days ago. He was also a prominent member of the inner circle, so it was no surprise that whenever he entered a bar, all populated with death eaters and other dark folk these days, almost everybody in the place rushed to buy the seventeen year-old boy a drink. A father that smacked him around, a mother that didn't care; it was the recipe for a heavy drinker, which Blaise had privately been since he was in his fourth year at school.

The bar-of-the-night was a crowded, smoke-filled place that you could hardly hear your own thoughts in. He wasn't the kind of guy that would sit at the bar and drown himself in hard liquor while telling the bartender his troubles, he was the life of the party. He and Draco were the center of attention for every Slytherin bash that they had had in school, their natural charisma made it that way. Draco could drink socially and stay respectable, it took a lot to get him drunk. Blaise, on the other hand, didn't drink much in public because he knew how it would turn out, with him punching some poor sucker that pissed him off.

After several hands of poker he was getting sick of the noise, and just wanted the relief of the bottle, so he got up and began to walk towards the door. He was looking at the ground and all he saw was a pair of expensive black shoes in his path. He looked up…

"Hi, Zabini." The person said.

While all of this was going on Ginny was still in the mirror. She was freezing cold and shaking. She had been pounding on the solid portal for a couple of hours now, and the thick stone walls had made sure that nobody had heard her cries for help. Her lips were now turning blue. I'm going to die. She thought. I'm going to die in a mirror. Fred and George should make a joke product like it. They could call it: Weasley's Mirror of Mayhem! She shook her head hard. She didn't want to continue on in this way of thought because it was only a matter of time before she got stuck on the thought of whether or not they were still alive.

It was so cold. She started to feel numb. She looked at her hands and realized that they were turning purple. It was completely dark behind the mirror, an endless expanse of darkness that the light passing through from the bathroom hardly began to illuminate. She sat on the smooth dark ground, which felt like glass and she hugged her knees to her chest. She furiously rubbed her bare arms with her hands, but that did nothing to warm them and it was hard for her to move much. She let her head rest on her knees and felt her breathing become shallow. She was tired. Much too tired.

Suddenly she felt a warm hand wrap roughly around her arm and pull her up and towards the rippling mirror. The hand pulled her into warmth and light, the warmth and light of Blaise Zabini's bathroom. She tried to see who the person was, but she couldn't make her eyes focus. Then the only world she knew was darkness.

When she woke up it was warm and dark. I'm back home, in my own bed! Waking up from a horrible dream! But the bed was too thin and hard. Not at all like the lumpy comfort of her bed at home or the thick, heavy, softness of a Hogwarts bed. She could tell that there was a thin canopy around her bed, magicked so that it wouldn't let in the light. Even her pajamas were, surely, not her own. They were made of a thick, coarse fabric. She slowly slid the curtain, afraid of what she might reveal. The room was very large, and the only thing in it was her small bed.

She knew right away that she was in her own Hogwarts room. Right up the stairs from the Gryffindor common room. None of the old beds were there and it was all bare stone. Even her stuff, which had been strewn around only a few days ago was gone. She got up and walked to the door leading to the stairs that would take her to the common room.

As she opened the door she could see the room that had once been beautiful gold and maroon. It was now green, silver, and black, and its most prominent decoration: a platinum-haired, aristocratic, boy sitting leisurely in one of the leather couches, his cold eyes staring up at her. Malfoy! Oh, my God! Malfoy's back! But back from where? Does it really matter?

"I see you're awake, Weaslette." He drawled.

"Aren't you the observant one, Malfoy," She shot back venomously.

"What a way to talk to the person who, just recently, saved your life." He remarked while tutting. "Come down here." He commanded, seeing that she had stopped at the top of the stairs.

She descended the stairs, matching his cold stare with one of her own. "You're the one that pulled me out of the…"

"Mirror, yes. Good thing that I was there, too." He said.

"Why is that?" She asked as she began to sit in the leather chair that was furthest from him.

"Not just anybody could have pulled you out." He said, deliberately not truly answering her question.

"And, why is that?" She asked through clenched teeth, quickly becoming annoyed by his vague answer.

"Not everybody is like us, I'm afraid." He said in mock disappointment.

"Like us! I'm nothing like you!" She spat. "You're a disgusting bastard! You death…"

"Death eater?" He asked calmly while raising one eyebrow in a questioning way.

"Yes. You and your kind! You kill for fun, you sick fuck!"

"Language, Weasley." He said, still with his calm countenance. "Yes, I kill. And yes, it can be fun, depending on who I'm killing."

"That's disgusting!"

"Don't tell me, you've never wanted to kill somebody."

"I…"

"Everybody has somebody." He said coldly.

"And some people don't care who it is, as long as they get to kill!" She said, in a very poisonous sounding voice.

"Some people." He said quietly. "You're bruises have returned." He said, one again becoming ridiculously calm, like he was chatting about Quidditch.

"Why do they keep disappearing?" She asked as she looked at a large bruise on her arm. "What have you done to me?"

"I didn't do anything to you, Weasley." He replied.

"Then what…"

"All in due time." He waved his wand lazily and she was clothed in a black robe with expensive fabric. The initials "D.L.M" were stitched in fancy letters over her heart.

"You're initials?" She asked as she saw the letters.

He nodded. "Of course, my little red-headed property."

"I am not your property!" She said angrily.

"If you prefer to think that you aren't, then be my guest." He stated. "You're mind is still yours, for the time being, even if that is all that's yours."

"What do you mean, for the time being? What are you playing at, Malfoy?" She asked.

"You will find out soon enough. We are going to have a special private breakfast with the Dark Lord." He announced. They left the Gryffindor tower, given to Draco Malfoy because he was the Dark Lord's right-hand man. They walked through many passages and ended up at the two gargoyles guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Draco drew out his wand and pointed it at Ginny. She jumped slightly and tried to get away, but he was holding her wrist.

He whispered something and her bruises and cuts were instantly healed. "Don't say anything about the mirror," He warned. After he whispered something to one of the gargoyles they hopped out of the way and the entrance to Dumbledore's office was revealed.

A/N: Ah, the long-awaited entrance of Draco! Hope it wasn't a disappointment. Hope you liked it. The next chapter will probably be up before next week.