If you didn't read the part about the "terrorist" attack, go back to chapter four and read it. I had it in this chapter at first, but then I decided it would be better in the other one and switched it. So...yeah.

OH! I forgot to put a disclaimer at the beginning, so here it is: I AM NOT JK ROWLING. I (unfortunately) do not own and will not profit from the Harry Potter universe or Harry Potter characters. Ari is mine, Uncle Mac is mine, Genevieve is mine...basically, anyone you don't recognize is probably mine.

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The next morning, I had a revelation—well, two. One was that I hadn't been thinking clearly the night before. Draco, even if it was his job to keep an eye on me, in all likelihood did like me. I mean, he had been flirting with me outright for a week. Maybe it was just flirting, but at least I wasn't a job to him, which was comforting. I should probably apologize for giving him the cold shoulder, I decided.

My second revelation was concerned with why I hadn't been thinking clearly the night before and why I had been cranky for the past few days. And it was a revelation. It was all very clearly—and painfully—revealed to me when I went to the bathroom and found blood on my underwear. And then, of course, the cramps started. Now, normally, I use foul language only in my head. But I make exceptions for extreme circumstances.

"Fuck," I moaned, clutching my middle. "Shit. Damn. Unnngh."

I stumbled to the cabinet and seized the bottle of Midol. It took me a couple of tries to get the thing open, but I managed and downed two tablets. Then I threw off my clothes and got into the tub, pouring in a healthy amount of lavender scented bubble bath. Apologies would have to wait, I told myself firmly.

I spent the next two hours huddled in the bubbly water, clutching my stomach and moaning curses occasionally. I wish I were infertile, I thought desperately. I don't want kids anyway.

"Surely you don't mean that," remarked a voice off to my left.

"I do," I said through gritted teeth. "Right now, I really, really do. Begging your pardon, kyria."

"Ariadne, you know you don't have to call me that," Artemis said sternly.

"All right," I grunted. "Kyria...Artemis...can't you help me? I get such terrible cramps every month—I feel like I'm dying."

"Well, of course I can," she said tartly. "Why did you think I came?"

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" I gasped.

"Stand up," she ordered, and I instantly obeyed.

Artemis wasn't a goddess to mess around with. I might insult Eros and banter and bicker with Hermes, but the goddesses and great gods were to be respected and obeyed at all times. Artemis rose gracefully from the bench where she had been sitting and walked over to me. We were built remarkably alike—we had the same lean, lithe body, but she was taller. We even looked something alike, though her hair was pitch black and her eyes nearly black, while mine were hazel. I liked her and she liked me well enough (partly because I looked like her), but she was still a goddess.

Artemis placed her hand on my roiling, cramping belly and the pain began to fade. I sighed gratefully and sank back into the water. I allowed myself a moment to revel in the lack of pain and then glanced sharply at Artemis.

"Why have you come, if you don't mind my asking? Cramps doesn't seem like a good enough reason to come all the way from home."

"Even for my brother's favorite?" she asked, amused. "You were in pain. What other reason need there be? You're doubly in my care, now—both as a wolf and a maiden."

With that, she disappeared. Somehow I felt that she wasn't telling me the whole truth. But hey, I was mortal. She didn't have to tell me the truth if she didn't feel like it. I got out of the bathtub since the water was barely lukewarm anyway and dressed in a pair of huge sweatpants and a tee-shirt. I didn't plan on venturing beyond my room or maybe the piano room, as I called the sitting room nearest my bedroom.

I curled up in front of the fire (who had built it?) and did some homework and then read a bit. The cramps were gone, yes, but I still felt bloated and fat and ugly and miserable. Which was why I shouted at the person knocking on my door to go away without a second thought.

"Ariadne," said a shocked voice from the other side of the door.

I groaned. "Sorry, Uncle Mac," I called. "I'm not feeling very well today."

"Should I send up some food?"

"No, I don't think I could keep much down," I answered. Complete and utter bullshit, of course. When I have my period I eat everything and anything in sight.

"Well, if you need anything..."

"I'll let you know." Yeah, right. I can just see it now...Uncle Mac, you wouldn't happen to have any extra tampons lying around, would you? No? What about Midol?

Uncle Mac returned periodically to repeat his offer of food or medicines or anything else I might need. The fifth time this happened, I was a bit exasperated.

"Uncle Mac, really—I don't need anything."

"Ari, it's me." Draco. Great. Just what I needed. "Can I come in?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm—I'm not dressed," I said lamely.

"Are you clothed?" Trust Draco to catch the distinction. Phooey.

"Well, yes, but--"

Draco let himself in and dropped my shopping bags on the table.

"I went back and fetched them this morning," he said by way of explanation, and waited. When I didn't reply, he sighed. "Your uncle told me about last night."

Uh-oh. I could feel myself slipping into Unreasonable Bitch mode.

"Yeah, well," I said irritably. "Sorry you got saddled with diaper duty. But what can you do? It's your job."

"It's not my job," Draco said sharply. "My job is to make sure no one gets through the wards on the estate and to accompany you on excursions outside Greenwood. No one makes me spend time with you."

"Well, thanks very much," I grumbled. "I feel privileged. No, really."

"What's the matter with you?" he cried angrily.

Oh, no. Mayday! Captain, we're going down. We're sinking fast into Weepy Female territory, here.

"Don't yell at me," I said tearfully, and began to sniffle.

"Oh, don't be such a child," Draco sneered.

"I am not a child," I wailed. "I'm fat and ugly and—and smelly and pimply and my crotch is bleeding. So just let me be disgusting in peace, will you?"

"Oh." Draco looked panicked. "Oh. I'll—um—I'll just—go, then, shall I?"

"Go on, then," I cried, and wrenched his ring off my thumb, nearly dislocating it in the process—my thumb, I mean. "And take your stupid ring with you."

As Draco beat a hasty retreat, I threw myself onto the couch and burst into tears. I hate being female, I thought furiously. When I had control of myself again, I blew my nose and sat up. This called for serious amounts of food. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and peeked out to make sure no one was there before padding down the hallway.

Where was the kitchen, anyway? I wondered. Was there a kitchen? At mealtimes, the food had been there when I arrived. Did they just magic it into existence? No, I decided. There has to be food somewhere. There has to be. If I didn't find some food soon I wouldn't be responsible for my actions.

By following my nose, I finally found the Kitchen. Yes, with a capital letter. It was just that impressive. I looked in the pantry and saw, to my amazement, an entire shelf of chocolates. Another shelf held every flavor of Ben and Jerry's ice cream known to man, another cookies, and another chips and crackers. Snapping out of my daze, I snatched a box of chocolates, two packages of cookies, Super Fudge Brownie ice cream, and a bag of Doritos. I turned to leave and then grabbed another box of chocolates. Just in case.

I turned around and yelped, nearly dropping my hoard of goodies. A strange little creature with huge golden eyes and batlike ears stood with a wooden spoon in its hand. It was looking at me curiously but without fear. It looked like it was wearing an old pillowcase.

"Can Cinders help miss with something?" it inquired politely.

"Oh, hi," I stammered. "I'm Ari. Um—I found this stuff...you don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all, miss," Cinders replied cheerfully. "That room provides whatever is needed. Cinders finds it most useful."

"Um...what are you, if you don't mind my asking?" I asked curiously.

"I? I is a house elf, miss," the strange creature told me. "I cooks and cleans for the Master."

"Ah!" I exclaimed. "I was wondering about that. Well, sorry to bother you, Cinders."

"Is nice meeting you, Miss Ari," Cinders said, and disappeared into the vast realm of Kitchen.

I ferreted my stash up to my room and gorged myself. I felt briefly guilty, but shrugged it off. I had fencing tomorrow, anyway. And I felt much better after roughly five pounds of chocolate. So much better, in fact, that I even got dressed and went to the piano room to practice. I opened up the bench and took out Phantom of the Opera. Maybe the bench was enchanted, too, I mused. Just like the pantry. It always seemed to have whatever I needed.

I sang through 'Think of Me' and 'Music of the Night', ' and was in the middle of 'The Phantom of the Opera' when a smooth, dark voice interrupted. Smiling slightly to myself, I continued playing without looking up. God, I loved his voice.

"Sing once again with me...our strange duet..."

I jumped in at the appropriate time and by the time we finished the song, I was grinning. I looked up for the first time and smiled shyly at Draco. He very solemnly took his hands from behind his back and offered a bouquet of white roses—and a box of chocolates.

"You're not fat or ugly or pimply or smelly or any of those things," he said firmly.

"Except bleeding." Tee-hee. I think those chocolates were making me giddy.

"Yes, except that," he agreed hastily. There was a faint pink tinge in his cheeks, I noticed, and was very fascinated by it. I couldn't recall ever seeing him blush before. He cleared his throat and granted me his most dashing smile. "You are positively the most enchanting woman I've ever had the pleasure to meet—charming, intelligent, cruel—I mean, witty—radiantly lovely—not to mention possessed of a scent as enticing as her disposition..."

I laughed and accepted the roses and chocolate. "Alright, Don Juan, that's enough. I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"Well, you've had quite a shock," Draco shrugged. "And—er...well, you know. How did you already know we were wizards, by the way?"

I snorted. "The fact that you didn't know what The Phantom of the Opera should have been the first tip off. But mostly it was the lack of staff, electrical outlets, phones, computers—or TV's, for that matter. Oh, and I followed you to your boxing match--"

"You followed me?" Draco exclaimed incredulously, and shook his head. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Rotten little minx."

"Yeah, you could say that. Half your face was covered in blood and the next morning there wasn't a scratch. And then there's all the funny names, the little slip-ups—what exactly is Sleek-Easy's, anyway? Your mother mentioned it."

"Oh—it's a hair potion," Draco said, smirking slightly. "My mother's never really approved of curly hair. She thinks it's unruly." Seeing my narrowed eyes, he added quickly, "But I think it's beautiful."

"Why, thank you," I said with a sweet smile. "How kind of you to say so."

"Aren't you going to eat your chocolates?" Draco asked with a frown, and waved the box tantalizingly under my nose. "They're caramel."

Ooooh, caramel...I could feel myself starting to salivate. My stomach had clearly forgotten that I had just consumed two boxes of chocolate (one of which was caramel), a pint of chocolate ice cream, and two packages of fudge covered cookies. The Doritos were still waiting for me.

"Uh, maybe later," I said in a strangled sort of voice. "I'm... trying to watch my figure."

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The full moon came and went and over the next couple of weeks, it became a regular thing to hang out with Draco in the piano room in the evenings, reading or singing or arguing about Muggle pastimes such as soccer and track. He just couldn't see the point of soccer and tried to convince me of the superiority of something called Catfish or Squidshit(A/N: courtesy of my lovely, beautiful sister.) or something. It was supposedly played on broomsticks, which in my opinion made it impossible for it to be considered a sport. I mean, how physically demanding could it be if you were sitting on a broomstick the whole time?

Although our arguments sometimes got rather heated, I rarely became really angry with him because it was simply impossible to be angry at Draco when he had his Casanova Cap on. He often left me feeling flustered and not a little confused, however. Draco was a incorrigible, irredeemable flirt. I already knew that from first hand experience. But, judging from what I had seen at the several dinner parties we attended with my uncle, he was also a completely indiscriminate flirt who was just as likely to chat up old, banshee-like Madam Ketworth as any of the sophisticated, beautiful women who attended these parties. Or me.

To my great surprise, I found an unexpected ally in Genevieve Dolohov. She was cold and maybe more than slightly cruel, yes, but she was also wickedly funny and detested the Ketworth sisters-in-law. Or the Niffler-Twins, as she called them. (I didn't understand the humor in this until she explained that a Niffler was a small, mole-like creature that was obsessed with anything shiny—a perfect name for those pathetic gold-diggers.)

As Christmas drew closer, I found myself more than slightly nervous. It wasn't just a party, it was a ball. With dancing. And about a hundred and fifty people who I was supposed to wow with my solo—which my voice instructor neglected to tell me until three days before the ball. This resulted in several windows shattering and a book case falling over.

Far from being upset, Uncle Mac was delighted. This was apparently an indication that I had some magical ability—beyond turning into a wolf at will, that is. I wasn't too excited about this, myself. Which was probably a good thing, as it turned out. Uncle Mac had some creepy old warlock over to examine me more thoroughly and said creepy warlock declared that my magical ability was minimal and that all I could do was maybe move things without touching them or set things on fire and things like that. You know, little stuff (if you could hear me, you would hear the sarcasm in that statement.). Still, Uncle Mac was determined that what little ability I had be cultivated and trained. So I practiced making things float around my room, which was nifty and useful, setting things on fire, which was nifty but rather less than useful, and changing my hair color and texture. I discovered that I could also change my eye color. (Draco nearly had a heart attack when I arrived at breakfast the morning after my little episode with straight blond hair and silver eyes as a joke—it looked wretched with my skin tone, but the look on his face was worth it.)

The party was to be held on Christmas Eve at seven o'clock. I spent the entire day preparing—doing some last minute practicing, experimenting with hair color, soaking in the bathtub, etc. To my delight, Narcissa Malfoy arrived early and helped me make some adjustments to my dress.

"I think the skirt needs to be filled out a bit," Narcissa said critically, eying the sleek, shimmery dress.

"Just as long as I don't look like a cupcake," I replied warningly.

"My dear, I promise you," Narcissa said smoothly. "You will not bear the slightest resemblance to a pastry of any kind."

The end result was quite acceptable—in fact, it was downright wonderful. I felt like a princess. Narcissa walked slowly around me in a circle, assessing my appearance. She was frowning, though I couldn't see why. The skirt was by no means cupcake-ish—it merely swished pleasantly around my legs and accentuated my tiny waist rather flatteringly. My hair looked great, as did my make up. So what was wrong?

"Ah," she said finally, and snapped her fingers. What looked like a handful of diamonds appeared in her hand. "Jewelery. Consider this your Christmas present."

I gaped at myself in the mirror as she fastened a gold necklace positively dripping with diamonds around my neck and put in matching earrings. Then she stepped back and smiled, waving away my stuttered thanks.

"You look like an angel," she said with almost maternal pride. "I'm going to have my work cut out for me on your wedding day—it'll be hard to make you any lovelier than you are now."

"Planning ahead a bit, are we?" I asked lightly.

"Well, you are going to marry my son, after all," she laughed. "Didn't you know?"

I laughed as well and followed her to the door. Wait...she wasn't serious? No, she was just kidding—or hoping, at most. Well, that made two, I thought flippantly. Her and Eros, that is. Narcissa paused in the hallway and tapped her foot impatiently.

I looked at her uncertainly. "Are we waiting for something?"

"Ariadne," she said severely. "You aren't suggesting we arrive at the ball alone?"

"Of course not," I said seriously. "That would be catastrophic."

Her mouth twitched. "Hush, you. Ah, here they are."

Severus and Draco were approaching. Draco, as always, looked positively mouth-watering. Severus looked like an underfed bat, especially in those billowing robes. Draco had told me that the older generations still wore traditional wizard gear, but I hadn't pictured anything quite so Dracula-esque.

Draco stared at me for a moment before grinning widely. "Ha. Don't try telling me that you aren't radiant this time."

I raised my eyebrows and asked coolly, "Are you implying that I wasn't the last time?"

"Of course not. But it was something of a dull glimmer compared to your present brilliance," he said with a saucy smile, and kissed my hand.

"Well, a lot of the credit goes to your mother," I replied, fingering the necklace nervously. I was sure I was blushing horribly.

Draco frowned suddenly. "Is that..."

"It's the same one," I grinned. "We just made some alterations, that's all. Can't have you start giggling in the middle of our duet, can we?"

Narcissa looked intrigued. She opened her mouth to say something, but Draco stopped her.

"Mother, you really don't want to know."

"Fine then, keep your little secrets," she said fondly, as if she thought this was all terribly adorable. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as Narcissa took Severus's arm and gazed at the two of us with misty eyes. "Shall we go, then?"

"Lead the way, grannie...I mean, Mother."

Narcissa calmly whacked him on both sides of his head with her fan and swept down the corridor on Snape's arm. Draco rubbed his head, grinning ruefully after her.

"You know, it might reduce your chances of brain damage if you were as charming to your mother as you are to everything else with breasts," I remarked as we followed them.

"First of all, I never want to hear the words 'your mother' and 'breasts' in the same sentence ever again. Secondly...I don't think Madam Ketworth's really count as breasts. I always thought she had two really big belly-buttons, personally."

"Ugh! Talk about unwanted mental images," I complained.

Draco grinned evilly. "It won't be a mental image much longer. She's already here and dying to tell you all about her last mammogram."

"Do wizards even have mammograms?"

"No, I just wanted to gross you out."

"Well, you've succeeded admirably." I stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "But dear Mr. Ketworth was telling me earlier about a mysterious spot on his--"

Draco pulled away and covered his face with his hands. "Ari, tell me you didn't."

"Oh," I gasped, and batted my eyelashes at him. "Oh, of course not. I would never do any such thing. But I remembered that you have some Mediwizard training so I told him you would have a look."

"You've been spending too much time with Genevieve," he said severely.

"Maybe," I admitted. "But we don't have to worry until I actually go through with evil plans like that."

"So you didn't volunteer me?"

"No," I said with a satisfied smirk. "I volunteered Snape."

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I kept my face coolly composed as I descended the stairs on Draco's arm and pretended to ignore the dozens of jealous eyes that were turned on me. Inwardly, however, I was cackling almost maniacally. Bwahahaha. Eat your shriveled, pathetic little hearts out you evil, catty, cliquey bitches, I thought viciously. He's mine. At least for the next ten to twenty seconds, anyway. But they're ten to twenty seconds every girl in that room would kill for. Some had probably tried already.

Then my twenty seconds were over and Draco went off to talk to some buddies—or cronies, however you want to look at it. I looked around and spotted Genevieve sipping champagne by the piano. She nodded to me as I approached and handed me a glass.

"You look nice," I observed, taking in the slinky blood red dress she was wearing. It left very little to the imagination.

"I know," she said simply, and glanced at me. "You don't look so bad yourself—Narcissa gave you her necklace? She does mean business."

"What do you mean?"

Genevieve smirked. "She wants you for her precious little darling."

"She mentioned something to that effect," I admitted.

"Why the long face? You could do worse than Draco." Genevieve slanted me a glance. "If I were you, I'd smarm up to Narcissa as much as you can and get Draco to propose as soon as you can. Or get pregnant if he won't."

"Why on earth should I do that?" I asked, shocked.

"Listen, pet," she said in a low voice. "It's not safe to be an unattached, wealthy female with no blood relatives these days. Especially when you run with this crowd."

"What are you talking about?" I whispered. "What could anyone--"

Genevieve grabbed my arm and leaned in, giggling as if she were telling me a juicy bit of gossip.

"They're wizards," she hissed. "They could do whatever they wanted to you and what would you be able to do about it?"

"Uncle Mac wouldn't--"

"Use your brain! Why should your uncle bother taking care of you, anyway—he had no idea you had the slightest magical ability when he agreed to it. I've known your uncle a lot longer than you have, Ari—and he wouldn't take in an orphan out of the kindness of his heart. What else does he know about you? Your lycanthropy."

"You know about that?"

"Ari, everyone knows about that," she said witheringly. "Of course, you aren't supposed to know that everyone knows, but there it is. Everyone from the Ministry is here. He wants to showcase you to prove that werewolves aren't monsters."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," I said reasonably.

"It wouldn't be-- if all werewolves were harmless like you." Genevieve laughed humorlessly. "But Ari, most werewolves are monsters."

"Why are you telling me these things?" I demanded.

"Because I guarantee you, Ari, your uncle is not what he seems. I didn't realize until recently that you have no idea what's going on—no idea that--"

"Ah, Ariadne!" Genevieve and I turned with perfect smiles in place to greet Uncle Mac and a youngish man with red hair and glasses. "I want you to meet the Minister of Magic—Minister, this is my niece, Ariadne Metaxas. My dear, this is Percival Weasley. He was recently elected Minister of Magic."

"Is it recent enough for congratulations?" I asked with a charming smile, and held my hand out to be shaken. "Minister—may I introduce my friend, Genevieve Dolohov?"

"How nice to meet you both," he said pompously. He glanced at me nervously. "I understand you will be entertaining us tonight, Miss Metaxas?"

"And Draco as well," I replied modestly. "He generously agreed to sing a duet with me before my solo."

"Shy, are you?" Weasley asked in a would-be fatherly tone.

"I'm afraid so," I said, smiling ingenuously.

"Well, I'm sure it will be lovely," he said with a small bow. "I look forward to it."

"Please excuse me," interrupted a cold voice. I turned to see Genevieve's husband, Antonin. "May I steal my wife for a moment? I'm afraid it's urgent."

"No need, Antonin," Genevieve said, sounding bored. "We were finished here anyway."

I noticed with keen interest that Mr. Weasley looked slightly disappointed to see her go. And by slightly disappointed I mean that he looked like Christmas had been canceled for the next five years. Ah, well. Genevieve was beautiful...and I would not be at all surprised if Weasley were a virgin.

Then the bell rang for dinner and everyone drifted into the dining room. I found myself seated next to a woman who looked astonishingly like a toad. Her name was Dolores, she said. Dolores Umbridge. I've met some pretty revolting people in my life and I managed to be charming to every single one of them (even the businessman-slash-child pornographer) but with Umbridge, I was struggling severely. She had this horrible little girl voice that made my skin crawl and an extremely irritating way of talking to me as if I were a two year old. Of course, it was Genevieve who saved me.

"Doesn't Grandmother Toad look ravishing this evening?" she asked in French. "She doesn't speak French, don't worry. Sometimes I wonder about her English, really."

I blinked and smiled. "I don't think it's that she can't speak English properly. I think it's more that you can't pay attention to what she's saying because at any minute you expect her to start croaking."

"Tell me, Grandmother Toad, will you croak for us?" Genevieve asked, clearly directing her question at Umbridge, who looked panicked.

"Wee?" she squeaked in that hair-raising little girl's voice.

Genevieve and I waited politely for a moment. Then Genevieve gave a superior little sigh.

"I see," she murmured, and smiled at the man next to her, who had clearly understood the exchange and seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.

"You speak French well," he told me, and held out a hand. "Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Thank you," I said, grateful for an excuse to ignore Umbridge.

"Ariadne also speaks Spanish, Italian...what else, Ari?"

"Greek," I supplied. "And I'm learning Russian."

"Quite an accomplished young lady, I see," Shacklebolt said with a smile. "I believe I heard someone mention that you would sing for us before the dancing begins."

"Yes," I affirmed, with a glance at Umbridge. "I do hope you enjoy it, Madam Umbridge. I've heard that you're a musician yourself."

"Oh—oh, yes," Umbridge said vaguely. "I was quite an adept penis—pianist--"

"Oh, you simply must play for us!" I gushed.

"I don't know," Umbridge muttered. "My hands—arthritis, you know--"

"Oh, but I can perform a pain-relieving charm for you right now, you silly thing," Genevieve said with a tinkling laugh.

"You don't have to do that--"

"Nonsense," Genevieve said breezily. "It's elementary magic, no trouble at all."

Sadly enough, we were prevented from hearing whatever lame excuse Umbridge might have come up with because Uncle Mac stood up at the head of the table and raised his hand for attention.

"If it pleases you, my good people, the dancing will begin in the ballroom after a brief performance by my niece and none other than our own Draco Malfoy."

"Ave, Caesar," I muttered gloomily, and Genevieve finished for me with a grin.

"Morituri te salutant."

I got up to polite applause and dropped a brief curtsy before gliding into the ballroom on Draco's arm. He led the way to the piano and pointed his wand at it. It began to play the piece that I had insisted we practice over and over even though it was relatively simple.

"Softly through the winter's darkness shines a light

Are they angels over head, paused in flight?

Or pixies fluttering round his head

The little boy, Jesus...safe in bed..."

It's funny, I mused. I never thought wizards would be very religious. Or maybe they just thought Jesus was a wizard, too. But then, it wouldn't have been much of a miracle, would it? You know, healing cripples, giving sight to a blind man and all that? Well, but there's always the whole returning from the dead thing...I suppose that's somewhat remarkable, even for a wizard.

When the duet ended, we bowed—well, he bowed and I curtsied—and Draco gave me a reassuring smile before joining his mother. I noticed Genevieve seemed to be chatting up Shacklebolt, who appeared to be quite interested in what she had to say. I wonder if her husband noticed. Not likely, I decided. He was too busy flirting with a girl closer to my age.

I moved closer to the piano Draco obligingly flicked his wand at it. It began to play the piece I'd been working on with my voice instructor since I found out about the whole wizard thing. It was in English, but it was still extremely difficult because wizard composers didn't have to worry about an accompanist. Maybe if there were three pianists, people could play the accompaniment to wizard songs, but there was only one piano and it was played by magic. It was like Hindemith on crack. But it was very pretty and therein lies the difference.

When I was finished, everyone clapped and I smiled. The applause wasn't exactly thunderous, but it was definitely more than polite. Draco kept his face as cool as he always did when in public, but I could tell he was pleased. Well, so was I. I'd done a good job.

"Well, let the dancing begin," Uncle Mac declared, and an enchanted string quartet began to play.

Draco appeared at my elbow. "May I have the first dance?"

"Certainly," I replied promptly, and took his hand.

"You sang well," he remarked as he twirled me around the dance floor.

"Thank you," I said, fixing my gaze somewhere around his left ear. I'd never been this close to him before—at close range those silver eyes were quite unsettling. "So did you."

"We sound good together," he said, and gave me a smile that made my knees go weak. He leaned forward to whisper in my ear. "I bet we look good together, too."

I laughed, trying to keep my voice light. "I bet you'll say that to every girl you dance with tonight."

"No," he said with another heart-stopping smile. "Only the prettiest."

I blushed and looked down, unable to think of anything to say to this.

"Ari, are you going to look at me at all?"

I raised my eyes to his and for one breathtaking moment I thought he was going to kiss me. But then a tall black man tapped his shoulder and took his place. I shook my head slightly, trying to rid myself of a queer, dizzy feeling. I smiled at the newcomer.

"Blaise Zabini," he introduced himself.

"Ariadne Metaxas," I replied. "So—er, are you enjoying the party?"

"I am now," he said with what he clearly thought was a dashing smile.

I smiled back politely.

"Draco tells me you're from America," he commented, and I nodded. "Are you enjoying England? Not too much of a culture shock, I hope?"

"Not really," I shrugged. "Uncle Mac's house elf has been preparing familiar food and I pretty much keep to Greenwood. I guess I haven't been exposed to enough English culture to be shocked by it yet. Except puddings."

"Puddings?" Blaise asked, confused.

"In America, pudding is just a dessert with the consistency of yogurt," I explained, and shifted away slightly as he attempted to cop a feel. "When someone offered me black pudding for the first time, I thought they were playing a joke on me."

"Ah, I see," Blaise said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His right hand drifted a bit lower than was strictly necessary and he tried to pull me closer. I stepped on his foot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, pulling away. "I'm just a bit dizzy—I think I need some water."

"Of course," Blaise grunted, wincing, and limped away.

I smirked and seated myself on a bench and watched Draco make some girl blush and giggle. I scowled, thinking back on what Eros had told me those weeks ago. He'd said I would fall in love with Draco, but he hadn't necessarily said that Draco would fall in love with me. Wonderful. Just fan-frickin-tastic. I wasn't in love with Draco—yet. But I had a feeling I was headed in that direction. But what about him? He could have any girl he wanted—and there were plenty to choose from.

Blaise never did come back with my drink and none of the other men seemed to want to approach me even though I had seen them glance my way from time to time. I sighed, remembering how it was at school. And here I'd thought it had worn off or something. Then why didn't it affect Draco or Mr. Mac? Or that Kingsley person? Or Genevieve or Narcissa?

I was still pondering this when Draco suddenly appeared by my side with a cup of something sweet smelling. I accepted it with a smile and took a sip. It was good—and non-alcoholic, to boot. It had an interestingly zingy taste to it.

"This is tasty," I remarked. "What is it?"

"Flameflower nectar," he replied, taking a seat next to me. "From Brazil. It's watered down, of course. Why aren't you dancing?"

I shrugged. "No one seems to want to dance with me."

"Ah, well," Draco said wisely. "One man's trash--"

"Are you calling me trash?" I demanded, shoving him.

"Of course not, darling," he exclaimed. "I was just pointing out that just because not a man here would come near you with a ten foot pole--"

"Ha," I grumbled. "Ha, ha. And also, ha."

I sighed and looked at my feet.

"Oh, come on, Ari," he said, bumping his shoulder against mine. "You don't want a whole lot of wrinkly old men pawing at you anyway."

"Not all of them are old," I pointed out. "Blaise was rather good looking even if he is a complete cretin."

"He is that," Draco agreed.

"I know it's because I'm a werewolf," I said. "People reacted like this at school after I was bitten. I thought it had worn off or that wizards weren't affected by it or something. I guess not."

"What made you think that?" Draco asked curiously.

"Well—you and Uncle Mac, for starters," I told him, startled. "And your mother and Genevieve. And that Kingsley guy."

"Your aunt was a werewolf," Draco reminded me. "Genevieve's been exposed to a lot worse than werewolves—look at what she's married to. And my mother likes you too much to let silly instincts get in the way. Kingsley—well, I suppose he's just a nice fellow."

"And what about you?" I asked, a little hesitantly. "You never seemed to be afraid of me, even when you first met me. Your mother was."

Draco gave me a considering look. "You intrigued me. And, besides, I have my own...talents."

"You're not a werewolf," I said flatly, and sniffed at him playfully. "Nope. All human."

"No, I'm not a werewolf," he said. "I'm an Animagus."

"What's that?" I asked. "That little girl, Katie—she thought I was one.."

"An Animagus is a wizard who can take on a certain animal form at will," Draco explained. "It's very difficult—took me almost four years to learn how."

"What do you turn into?" I asked curiously.

Draco smiled. "Maybe I'll show you sometime."

"Why don't you come running with me?" I suggested hopefully.

Draco shook his head. "I have to work most nights."

"Doing what?" I asked.

"Secret," he said with a smile. He got up and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, beautiful. Dance with me."

The rest of the night was too wonderful to put into words. Sure, no one but Draco wanted to dance with me, but that worked out to my advantage since Draco didn't dance with anyone but me. And he was a perfect gentleman about it, too—no groping, pawing, or wandering hands. The entire time I could feel jealous eyes burning holes in the back of my head. I had to work extremely hard not to smirk too obviously.

At around midnight, the guests left and Draco walked me to my room. My nerves were buzzing pleasantly, as if I'd had a glass of warm wine. I smiled up at him when we reached my door.

"Thank you," I said. "You didn't have to, you know."

"Have to what?" he asked. "Walk you to your room? It's not exactly one of the twelve labors of Hercules. Even as ornery as you are."

"No, I mean spending the evening with me. You didn't have to. But I appreciated it."

"It was my pleasure," Draco said softly, and kissed my cheek. "Good night, Ari."

I froze and stood there in shock and watched him walk away. As I struggled to remember how to breathe, Draco turned and grinned, breaking the mood. "I hope you've gotten me something good for Christmas."

I nodded faintly and staggered into my room, where I pinched myself sharply.

"Get a grip," I muttered to myself. "He's just a..." but he wasn't a boy... "guy. Man. Whatever."

But as I retreated into the bathroom, I could have sworn I heard an echo of laughter.