A/N: Alright, I think I'm back on track now. Again, not a particularly amusing chapter, but vital. A turning point, if you will. Kind of disappointed, not as many reviews last chapter as usual (Sad Katie). I guess I deserved it, though, taking so long to update. Sorry. Well, here it is, hope you like (and review, -coughcough-).
Oh! You also finally find out precisely why Draco refuses to wear pants (or underwear, for my American readers).
Hugs to you all.
morning's broken angel

Disclaimer: Still doesn't belong to me.

Chapter Eleven: Draco Malfoy! If Your Father Ever Escapes Azkaban, He's Going to Kill You!

All in all, the last two days had been blessedly boring. Between Quidditch training sessions and preparing for her upcoming History of Magic exam, Ginny had been too busy to spare Draco Malfoy much thought. Her nights, however, were another matter entirely. When she fell into bed at night exhausted, her brain made timid attempts at figuring out precisely what had changed. Something was off, and the complete lack of anything noteworthy happening only furthered her feelings of unease. She would fall asleep mulling over their encounters, and more often than not, those thoughts would weave themselves into her dreams.

It was disconcerting to say the very least, to wake up from an explicit dream that involved him. It certainly didn't help that she now had a rather intimate knowledge of him. His body, his scent, the way he kissed, even the expressions that crept across his face in the throes of passion. Those were all things she dreamt of.

She tried to convince first Hermione, then Madam Pomfrey, that she desperately needed a Dreamless Sleep Draught. Unfortunately, both concluded that since her dreams were not causing her to actually lose sleep, it wasn't as dire a situation as she was painting. And she didn't wake up in the middle of the night. No, that would have been far too kind. Instead, her traitorous subconscious spent a full eight hours frolicking with a boy she despised, all whilst leaving her body to get the rest it needed.

Each morning she arose refreshed, and damned cranky because of it. As she brushed her hair before going down to breakfast, Ginny thought back to what had happened last night. She had apologised to Colin over and over, even going so far as to kneel at the feet of her friend and grovel. Well, not grovel, precisely. He had told Ginny he would forgive her on the spot if she agreed to help him fix it and do one other tiny little thing. That 'tiny' thing turned out to be kneeling at his feet in the common room and proclaiming that she was "an insufferable git with no appreciation for others' possessions, and that Colin is the most handsome boy in Gryffindor!"

Ginny chuckled as she recalled the scene last night. It was so typical of him to be good-natured about it. She knew plenty of people, herself included, that would make someone's life a living hell if their prized possession was broken in a fit of temper. So, with her pronouncement of Colin's good looks complete, they set about repairing the damage she had inflicted on his camera. Thankfully, they were able to restore it to working order rather quickly, so Colin waved her off to try and recover the photographs as well.

She developed them quickly after Colin showed her how to do it. The photos she had taken of Malfoy were all ruined, runny and dark, and completely useless. All save one. That one had come out perfectly, crystal clear and almost illegal. It was the last one she had taken, where he looked up at her from under his eyelashes, shirt and tie hanging open around him, framing his body. His trousers hung precariously from his hips, and he looked thoroughly edible. If not for his eyes blinking and the fine tremors that ran through his body, one would mistake it for a Muggle photo. He was that still. It oozed sensuality and invited one to hook a finger in the waistband of his trousers and send them slithering to the floor. She had hidden the photograph under her mattress and gone to sleep, unsure of exactly what she planned to do with it. Which brought things round full circle to her dilemma of what to do regarding Malfoy.

She ambled downstairs to wait for the rest of the Quidditch team, so they could all go to breakfast together. Ron had announced that they should eat together at least once a day to devise strategies for their first match, which was in one short week. She flopped into a chair and thought about what she was going to do. Malfoy hadn't so much as looked in her direction since waking up and snogging her in the corridor in front of Prof Sinistra. The lack of any attempts at revenge made her more suspicious than anything else would have. It drew her nerves out, winding Ginny up to the point where she jumped at the slightest noises, sure it was Malfoy bent on vengeance. Or snogging. She wasn't sure which was more likely. The latter was definitely more appealing, at this point. It was all very confusing.

Finally, the team made their way to breakfast, huddled together in a tight little group at the table, alternately stuffing pieces of food in their mouths and scratching out formations on the parchment scattered on the table in front of them. The Chasers bickered over the most effective tactics against Slytherin's defence as Ron repeatedly shushed them with very dramatic looks over his shoulder, saying, "Keep it down! You never know where they have ears." Harry simply rolled his eyes at Ginny whenever Ron did this, causing her to erupt in giggles that turned her brother's ears an indignant shade of red.

"Well, they could be listening!" Ron said defensively at least a half dozen times.

Breakfast progressed in the same manner until a commotion overhead signalled the arrival of the morning's owl post. Ginny dropped the slice of toast she was buttering as Fred and George's owl swooped down at her with a small package. She caught it just before it smashed into the pitcher of orange juice in front of Seamus and shook her fist at the owl as it circled above her.

"Bloody menace! Only Fred and George could find an owl that likes to cause as much trouble as they do! I swear, you do it on purpose!"

The owl hooted reproachfully at her and swept away. She looked for Igraine, her parents' new owl. She was perched on Harry's shoulder, calmly crunching a piece of bacon in her beak. Obviously no letter for her from home today. Both Harry and Ron were intently reading letters from her parents, and so missed her look of bewilderment as she unwrapped the small parcel in front of her. Ginny snickered as she read the note inside the box.

Dearest little sister,

We put quite the effort into your request. You should be thankful your darling

brothers adore you so much.

Actually, you can't destroy any Hogwarts statuary. We tried in our third year,

when we ran across a particularly loathsome statue of Bathilda Bagshott. It

quoted 'A History of Magic' whenever someone came within a metre of it. Nasty

thing was positioned right next to the front doors. We're pretty sure Filch was

behind it.

Anyway, we blew it up. Three hours later, we were in Filch's office being promised

caning and bamboo shoots under the fingernails when Prof MacGonagall saved

us. Well, not really. She gave us detention for a month. We were forced to clean

the Owlery without magic. Brutal old woman, that one.

But that's beside the point. She told us that the statues are enchanted to

recreate themselves so any 'miscreant' (that's a direct quote from old

MacGonagall) that destroys them is duly punished. Never thought about it

again, since she had the statue moved and we couldn't find it to experiment on.

We've devised a very clever potion that only works on stone. It's a variant of a

Silencing Charm.

Pour the potion over the statue, and it will be silent forever more. The potion is

impervious to all magic meant to counteract its effects. The only way to lift it is

to pour Muggle liquid soap over it. Don't ask. You really don't want to know the

answer, Gin.

Well, best of luck with your statue. Be sure to let us know how it goes, as we're

considering the potion as an addition to our inventory.

Merry mischief-making.

Fred and George

Ginny laughed happily as she set the note aside and pulled a small vial from the parcel. It contained an innocent-looking pink potion. She carefully set the vial and note in her pocket for further examination later. She was prevented from asking Ron what the letter from their parents was about by a commotion across the Great Hall.

(meanwhile...)

Draco put down his fork as owls filled the Great Hall. His mind had been drifting, trying to reason out his frequent, and completely absurd, dreams of Ginny Weasley. The one from last night had topped all of the others, though. It was... graphic, in the later parts. Surely there's a logical explanation for dreaming of having Weasley secured naked to my bed whilst I licked treacle off her belly. Think, Draco, think. He smoothed his robes thoughtfully. It must be one of those representative dreams! Yes, that's it. Being naked in a dream is to be vulnerable. Yes, exactly. And her being tied up reinforces that. Her belly is... the root of my problems. Precisely! And the treacle... er... the treacle is how sweet my victory will be. Ah ha! That's got to be it, I know it. Now, I've simply got to convince myself to believe that. Stupid women with their stupid bodies. No wonder men do insane things like buy flowers and write poetry. It's so they continue to get a good shag when they need it.

He shook his head and smiled, his first real smile in quite some time. Draco looked up expectantly for his weekly delivery of sweets from his mum. Instead, the family owl gripped a Howler in her razor-sharp talons. She simply dropped it on his head and swept away, not even stopping for a bite of food. Wondering what on earth would have driven his mother to send him a Howler, he grabbed it up from where it had fallen on the bench and scrambled up. Not going to let these twits have the pleasure of hearing whatever it is she wants to yell about. Probably broke a fingernail writing out a cheque for a new set of robes, or some such drivel. Striding quickly for the doors, he failed to notice a smugly expectant Blaise Zabini shadowing him.

Not ten steps from the doors, Draco was knocked to the floor as someone slammed into his back. He hit the stones hard, temporarily knocking the breath from him as a heavy weight clumsily removed itself from his legs.

"What the..." he gasped. "Geroff!" He scuttled forward, trying to grab the Howler and get out before it exploded.

Blaise had other ideas. He grasped Draco by the wrists and pulled him up. "Sorry, mate. Wasn't paying attention to where I was going. You alright?" he asked as he manoeuvred himself between Draco and the Howler. He was forced to release one of Draco's arms as he struggled to get around him. Blaise just asked louder, "You alright?"

Draco had no sooner freed his arms and made a move for the letter before it exploded in a shower of angry red sparks.

"DRACO TIBERIUS MALFOY!" his mother's voice screeched in outrage. "I OUGHT TO FLOO DIRECTLY THERE AND SHOUT AT YOU IN PERSON, YOU THOUGHTLESS WRETCH! PRIMROSE PARKINSON OWLED ME THE MOST DISTRESSING NEWS I'VE HAD SINCE YOUR FATHER'S BEEN GONE! SPEAKING OF YOUR FATHER, HE WOULD HAVE A HEART ATTACK IF HE HEARD OF WHAT YOU'VE BEEN GETTING UP TO! HE'D BE BEGGING FOR THE KISS, SIMPLY FOR THE SHAME OF IT! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM?! I WOULDN'T HAVE THOUGHT YOU CAPABLE OF SUCH, SUCH... SPITEFULNESS! YOU LEAVE THAT POOR WEASLEY GIRL ALONE, DRACO, DO YOU HEAR ME? HEXING HER, PHYSICAL VIOLENCE! UNBELIEVABLE! KISS AND MAKE UP, OR I'LL SEND YOU DIRECTLY TO ARTHUR WEASLEY FOR PUNISHMENT, MARK MY WORDS! HONESTLY!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Draco flushed a dull red in mortification, his feet frozen in shock. He narrowed his eyes, filled with malicious promise, at Blaise. Blaise looked back at him in horror.

"Your parents named you Tiberius?" he whispered. "That's awful!"

Draco was reaching for his wand when Millicent shouted out, "Your mum's got one hell of an imagination, Malfoy! Knew she was a little barmy for years, but she's finally gone round the bend, I guess."

The Great Hall was filled with subdued laughter and whispering. Draco was ready to forgive Millicent anything for making it seem a great joke, diffusing the situation. He could have kissed her ugly face at that moment, fed her bonbons and quoted Byron, proposed marriage, jumped off a tall cliff, anything she asked for. Someone at the near end of the Ravenclaw table muttered, just loud enough to carry to Draco's ears, "The joke is that Malfoy's mum thinks his father would be upset about him attacking Ginny Weasley. Please. I think he'd go mad at the prospect of them kissing and making up!"

Draco looked wildly around, his eyes finally settling on the Headmaster. He was peering over his eyeglasses at Draco thoughtfully as Prof Sinistra whispered something in his ear. Draco nervously twisted his robe between his fingers, finally realising that the best course of action was a swift exit. He was almost out the door when Dumbledore's low voice reached him.

"Mr Malfoy, Miss Weasley, may I have a word with the two of you outside?" he asked. Draco turned and nodded dejectedly, as Dumbledore's tone of voice clearly brooked no argument.

"I know you had something to do with this, Zabini," Draco hissed, glaring at the taller boy. "Don't even bother protesting. I know you're behind this. It reeks of your awful cologne. How about you, Pansy and I have a little chat this evening in the common room? I want answers from the both of you. Don't make me make you bleed to get them," he threatened before stalking out the door.

Ginny followed Malfoy out as Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head table. She was embarrassed but amused, which was an odd combination she had never encountered before. Malfoy's mother is either incredibly stupid, or inconceivably self-deluded. Lucius Malfoy is rotten to the core. Hell, he tried to kill me once himself with the diary. Not to mention the Department of Mysteries, or the number of times he tried to kill my family and friends during the war. The only way he'd be enraged would be if he knew that his precious son had snogged Arthur Weasley's blood-traitor daughter. More than once, at that. And that he LIKED it. Ha! Maybe I should send him an owl detailing precisely what happened. And include that photo. With any luck, he'd die of a broken black heart. Ginny was shaken from her reverie by Prof Dumbledore's soft clearing of his throat. She hadn't noticed him joining them, or the furious looks Malfoy was directing at her when he wasn't glaring holes through the floor.

"I couldn't help but notice something amiss in my school lately," he began quietly. "Especially when challenges are issued at meals and some of my students end up with mysterious maladies."

Draco turned his glare on the Headmaster, unable to master the emotions that rampaged across his face.

"Now, I firmly believe in letting young people discover things for themselves, as they rarely believe an old man when he tells them," Dumbledore said wryly. "But neither of you seems to have come to an acceptable conclusion on your own, and this has gone on for quite long enough. It's disrupting everyone's lives here, not just your own. Even the staff have their concerns," he admonished gently. "Here's what is going to happen, since you require my intervention. I'm going to cast a charm that will enclose the both of you in a sound-proof bubble. You are to resolve your issues, here and now, to your satisfaction. I am not removing the charm until you both feel you have reached a solution. Also, it will be completely transparent, so I may intercede if either of you feels the need to resort to violence, either physical or magical. I warn you against that, as I will be forced to expel the student in question. I try to stay out of students' affairs," he said, almost apologetically, "but the two of you have left me no recourse. Are you ready?" Dumbledore finished, looking from one to the other. At their jerky nods of agreement, he motioned them down a side hall to an unused classroom. Once they were all inside, he cast the charm around them.

Both Ginny and Draco ignored each other and watched the Headmaster. He conjured an overstuffed chair with a basket on it. He set the basket down, pulling knitting needles and a tangle of yarn from it. Ginny smiled fondly at him as he raised his creation for her inspection. It most closely resembled a scarf, except for the right angle it took about halfway up its multi-coloured length. She nodded in approval before turning to Draco, her smile vanishing.

"So," she began awkwardly.

Draco snarled at her, raising her own anger.

"How is it, knowing Mummy's a nutter?" Ginny began acidly.

With a vicious glare, he spat back, "How's your arse? Can you sit yet? I imagine my handprints still cover it from top to bottom."

Ginny advanced a step with her fists balled up before she remembered that she'd be expelled if she layed a hand on him. She settled for crossing her arms tightly over her chest, more a preventative measure to keep her from hitting him than anything else.

"Look, we're obviously not leaving until we sort this out," she tried in a conciliatory tone.

"Fine," he huffed, obviously battling to suppress his anger. "Here are my terms. Give me the camera, call off that idiotic 50 galleon challenge, and never speak to me again. Oh, and a public apology."

Ginny chortled, genuinely amused. "You're as deluded as Mummy. I'm not-"

"Don't talk about my mother," he yelled.

"Fine. Maybe that was a cheap shot," she acknowledged. "I'm not giving you the camera. It's not mine," she cut him off with a raised hand as he opened his mouth. "It belongs to Colin Creevey. Anyway, I threw the camera at him and ruined the film. The photographs are useless blurs of colour. I'll show them to you, to prove it."

"Agreed. And I get to destroy them, just in case," he said suspiciously.

"If you'd like," she said equably. "And I can't give you a public apology if I'm to never speak to you again, you know." She gave him a measured look as he flushed a light pink and sputtered. Ginny heaved a sigh. "Listen, Malfoy, we have to end this. Someone's going to end up dead, at the rate we're going. I'm willing to call off the challenge at lunch, but only if you are reasonable about this. If we can talk about this civilly, then I'll call it off. If we're going to stand here and throw insults at each other until Dumbledore gets tired of this and expels us both, then it's on your head, not mine."

He pursed his lips and stared at her, thinking. "Fine. On one condition. You answer my questions truthfully, and I'll grant you the same courtesy. And nothing said in here is to ever be passed to anyone, for any reason. Ever. Deal?"

Ginny nodded and gave him a grim smile. "Deal."

"Did-"

"Are-" They began at the same time.

Draco waved a hand at her with a mocking nod. "Ladies first."

"I was going to ask why you started this in the first place," she said.

"Me?" Draco asked incredulously. "Me? I seem to recall it being YOU gossiping about my choice of garments to anyone with ears, whilst I was in the hospital wing recovering from a near-death experience!"

"Near-death, my arse!" Ginny snorted. "And I never would have done that if you weren't plotting something undoubtedly nefarious and being... odd when I tried to help you and get your things."

"Oh, spare me the self-righteous act!" he retorted. "I admit you were being nice when you helped in the Potions classroom, but snooping through my room on orders from Snape, looking at the book I was reading, rifling through my clothes and then playing at Little Miss Do Right? Please," he said derisively. "When you came in with my things acting all shy and submissive, I knew it was an act. I was simply curious as to what type of girl claims to help an enemy and then exposes intimate facts about him. Treachery doesn't fit well with the heroic facade."

"Well, what kind of boy rhapsodises about the breasts of a girl he professes to hate?" Ginny parried.

"Circe's Swine!" he yelled. "I told you, I wasn't exactly in my normal frame of mind, Weasley! Half my blood was on the damned floor! Stop being purposely thick!"

"Fine!" she yelled back. "And whilst we're on the subject, why don't you wear pants, Malfoy? Why don't you tell me that!"

"You really want to know? Fine!" he yelled, not noticing they were practically toe to toe, shouting into each others' faces. He grabbed her elbows. "Here's my deep, dark secret! I let Crabbe practise Shrinking Charms on me first year! Not a big deal, since he couldn't do one anyway! I fell asleep waiting for him to get it right, and woke up screaming when my pants were a fraction of the size of a Brazilian thong! Zabini eventually counteracted it, but it took two weeks to physically recover. Threw every pair of pants I owned in the fire as soon as I could walk properly. Happy now, you nasty hag?"

Ginny's mouth fell open. "Well. I never would have guessed that was the reason you didn't own any," she managed to choke out.

"Don't you DARE laugh," Draco threatened darkly. "Since we're being truthful," he sneered, "tell me how you were feeling when you seduced me."

The laughter in Ginny's eyes drained away, leaving her face strained and white. "It was a means to an end," she said stiffly.

Draco knew he had her cornered now by her own agreement. "Tsk tsk, Ginny. Truth only," he chided. "How did teasing me make you feel? Undressing me, rubbing your body against mine, snogging me senseless. How did all of that make you feel?" he asked in a soft, caressing tone. "What did it do to you?" he whispered.

Ginny blinked slowly, unconsciously gripping his arms. "I... I..." she began haltingly, wetting her suddenly dry lips with her tongue. "I liked it," she whispered, looking down at his shoes. "I liked kissing you. I liked the way you felt. I liked the way it made me feel. I felt strong and desirable, and in control. And then I felt bad," Ginny ground out brokenly, a hint of tears in her words.

Draco's stomach lurched at that, at the tears thick in her voice and the admission she had just made.

"I felt bad for what I was doing," she continued. "I knew it was wrong, but I had justified it to myself. And I couldn't back out then, so I just got it over with as quickly as possible. And then you caught me, and I didn't think about it anymore because I wanted to kill you. You hurt me," she accused, looking up at him, tears threatening to spill over her lashes.

"I was too angry to do magic. I might have injured you, or even killed you. So it was either slap you around and do some serious damage or spank you like a child," he said slowly. "At that point, it was one or the other, Ginny. Deciding on the spanking took the last shred of my self-control. I don't really remember hitting you very hard, either," he added.

She pinkened. "Well, it hurt. Trust me on that."

"It was supposed to hurt," he said authoritatively. "If it didn't hurt, there would be nothing to remind you to never do anything like that again."

"Well, well, who are you? An authority on how to discipline children?" she snapped. "If that's your mindset, the Ministry should legally bar you from ever having children!"

"You would have preferred having the life beaten out of you?" he asked incredulously. "And my children will be a welcome addition to the world, let me assure you."

"I didn't say that I would have preferred a beating. Don't put words in my mouth," she said mulishly.

Exasperated, Draco threw his hands in the air. "You can't have it both ways, Princess. Your choices were a spanking or a beating. And they weren't your choices, really, they were mine. And my mother," he snarled, "despite her capacity for insanity, as you so kindly pointed out, prefers that I don't beat women. I indulge her, since I happen to agree when I'm not driven to the brink of madness by idiot redheads!"

Ginny put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. "That's right, blame your lack of self-control on me. That solves everything! Poor Draco can't take responsibility for his own actions, never that!"

"You are a melodramatic, spiteful little witch who can't control her temper. And THAT is the truth."

"Well you're an over-bearing, self-centred, nasty, heartless, attention-starved bastard! I never would have done a damned thing in the first place if you left Harry and Ron alone!"

"Ah," Draco drawled softly, his face suddenly as expressionless as a mask. "Now, we're getting to it. Leave precious Potter alone. Don't want to offend our conquering hero, do we? Everyone loves the self-sacrificing Saint Potter. Still hopelessly pining after him, Princess? Waiting for your story-book ending?" His words came faster and faster, laced with the hatred and venom that his face didn't show. "Guess what? It's not going to happen. Potter will never love you!"

Ginny laughed. She threw her head back and laughed, confusing him. "Is that what you think?" she gasped around a laugh. "You think I'm in love with Harry?"

"Well, it's rather obvious," he sniffed defensively.

"Oh yes, so obvious it escaped me," Ginny retorted dryly. "And stop calling me Princess, it's bloody aggravating. I do love Harry. I have for several years now. As a brother, you great berk. Not romantically. I want him to be happy again, not propose marriage to me. Do I look like a complete idiot?" She raised her hand. "Don't answer that. I am sick of the way you torment Ron, Harry, Hermione and everyone else that you think is below you. It's appalling, the lack of respect you have for anyone who doesn't hold with your ideals of pureblooded superiority."

"I respect Potter," he defended. "I simply despise him. It's a very basic difference."

"Really?" Ginny drawled, her voice dripping with disbelief. "And why do you despise him, hmm? Since now we're getting down to it, as you say. Why do you hate him so much that you continue to torment him even when he's defenceless and all but broken? Because he refused your friendship seven years ago? Are you that shallow?"

"No!" he yelled. "I hate him because he has always gotten out of hand what I never got, through fair means or foul. Respect, awe, talent, adulation, fame, everything! And the bastard paid it no mind! He never cared that most of the Wizarding World spoke his name with reverence! Even my father respected him. He couldn't be brought low! Even the Dark Lord lost to him, time and again. So how the hell was I supposed to compete with someone like that!" he shouted angrily, his eyes shining with a film of furious tears.

"You're saying you hate Harry because you want to be like him?" Ginny asked quietly, searching his watery eyes. "Draco?" she prompted gently.

"Yes," he replied in a tortured whisper.

"I see. You do realise that no one is perfect, don't you? There's a reason witches and wizards are mortal, you know. We all have flaws, and we're not gods," she said wisely. "Harry, for example. He can be the most self-centred person on the planet. He does, and always has, thought first of how things will affect him. He loves the people closest to him, but doesn't always realise how his reactions can hurt their feelings. He hates the spotlight, but he's drawn to it in spite of himself. Do you see what I'm saying?" Ginny asked, feeling sorry for the wealth of pain in him. This was a side of Draco Malfoy she had never dreamt existed.

"Potter is self-centred, isn't he?" Draco asked hopefully.

Ginny shook her head firmly, but softened it with a small smile. "Don't go maligning Harry. What I'm trying to tell you is that you two are similar, like flip sides of the same coin. He has fame, doesn't want it, but needs it all the same, whether he's aware of it or not. You desperately want attention, do anything to get it, and mourn the fact that it's not the type of attention you wanted. You both have this horrible void that sucks in recognition, but no matter how much you have, it's not enough. Don't ever wish for someone else's life. It's never what you expect and rarely what you really want."

Draco stared at her, trying to process what she had said. "Don't go thinking I'm going to swarm to Potter like a moth to flame now. I still hate him. And I think Muggles should stay the hell out of our world," he said defiantly.

"And I still think you're a small-minded bigot, indoctrinated from the cot to hate anything different from you," Ginny retorted.

Draco took a step back, suddenly dropping her arms. "Look. I don't want to be Potter. Don't mistake me for some drooling fan of his, and don't you dare feel sorry for me. All I'm saying is that I want to be someone whose name is remembered. Someone people step back from and wonder what it must be like to be."

Ginny gripped her own arms, hugging herself to ward off the cold feeling enveloping her. She turned her face away from him as she asked sadly, "And you truly believe people will revere a man that hates everything that's different from him? The only people that admire that are idiots and zealots."

"I don't hate everything that's different from me!" Draco cried fiercely. "If I hated your precious Muggles, I would've helped my father during the war. Instead, I sat at a cousin's home in France comforting my mother, who cried for days on end. If I hated them, I'd never be able to work with your Mudblood mate Granger on a daily basis. Muggles have their world, we have ours, and that's how it should stay. Mudbloods destroy the line between the two, and families like yours smile merrily, as if it's okay. Well let me ask you something. If your family didn't believe in retaining the pureness of their lines, how did your parents come to be? Because the Weasleys and the Prewetts valued the same thing I do. You think that a millennium worth of marriages were all love matches? Are you that naive? Check out your own family history before you malign the beliefs of mine. I'd wager there were several rather unhappy alliances created simply to continue their pure lines. So if I'm hateful and evil for thinking what I do, then point the finger at your own family, too!" he finished grandly.

Ginny stood silent a moment. Slowly, she began. "I don't judge my ancestors for their choices, but I never asked to be a Pureblood. If every magical family held to your vaunted ideals, there'd be none of us left. None. We would have bred ourselves out long ago. I learned in the war that you do what you have to, simply to survive. And sometimes that means embracing what's foreign to you. You have a lot to learn about life if you don't know that." She gazed up at him, unblinking. "So in effect, what you're saying is that if you fell in love with a Muggle or a veela or someone else that wasn't 'pure', you wouldn't marry them?"

He snorted. "I don't believe in love."

"Oh no you don't," Ginny countered. "You love your mother."

"Fine," Draco sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don't believe in romantic love. There's lust, and mutual interests and friendship. You romantic types mistake it for love."

"Alright," Ginny said evenly. "If you lusted after a Muggle," she cut him off when he tried to interrupt, "or a veela or someone who wasn't a Pureblood, were friends with them and had common interests, you'd leave them simply because they were different from you?"

"I'd never get involved with them in the first place," he retorted. "I have friends that are halfbloods, you know. I'm saying that when I marry, she'll be a Pureblood that I like. I'm not going to be the Malfoy that breaks with tradition. Take you, for example." Draco motioned at her with a hand. "You're a Pureblood that's fairly attractive when you're not bent on crusading. We're interested in some of the same things, like Quidditch, and you can obviously handle moderately intelligent conversation. But you're different from me. You want to have one big, mixed up world where Muggles, trolls, giants, wizards and everyone else live together happily. Check your history books. It doesn't work. People have tried before, and it almost always ends with a sizeable death count. But you I could probably handle in a relationship."

Ginny goggled at him. "What exactly are you saying?"

He fixed his gaze on some point over her head. "I'm saying that you're different, and I could handle that. So I'm not this intolerant monster you're painting. I just have different ideals, and if you can't deal with that, then you are just as intolerant as you claim I am, and a hypocrite to boot."

"A hypocrite," Ginny trilled. "I..." she trailed off. "Fine, you've made your point. What I want to know is, how exactly did a conversation about calling off this little war turn into a hypothetical discussion of our beliefs?" she asked, perplexed.

"Dunno," Draco responded, a small smile on his lips. "So. Have we reached an agreement? You call off the challenge at lunch now, and I'll make an attempt to be less, erm, abrasive."

"Really?" Ginny asked, surprised. "Why would you do that?"

Draco turned to Dumbledore and caught his eye. Nodding pleasantly, he indicated Ginny with a wave, signalling they had reached an accord.

Dumbledore removed the charm with a wave of his wand, before sending his chair and knitting back to their original location. He smiled tentatively. "Have we settled this, then?" he asked.

Draco and Ginny both nodded.

"Very good," Dumbledore said warmly. "I knew you two had it in you. Logic prevails, after all." He waved them forward out of the room as he closed the door behind him. "Now, I'm sure you are both a tiny bit late for your first classes. Off to your rooms, collect your things, and let your professors know that you were with me. Ah, this will be a good day," he sighed happily as he ambled off. "Good things are in the air."

Draco waited until Ginny was halfway up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower before he called out, "Weasley! You asked why I would do that? Because I need something to keep me occupied until N.E.W.T.s."

Ginny laughed quietly to herself as she began climbing the stairs again. Perhaps things would turn out alright after all.