A/N: My sincere apologies for the long delay- it's been a combination of writer's block on this story and less time to write than I would like. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Ginny easily acquired the papers to floo internationally, brushing the ashes off her clothes before going to meet Narcissa. She never could understand how some witches and wizards tumbled out after flooing looking perfectly manicured. Perhaps it was a skill one had to learn as a child, and her family had never cared much for appearances.

It was her first time in the city, so she took her time walking to the Apparition point. Narcissa was just off to the side, perfectly manicured fingers clinging to her shiny green clutch.

"Mrs. Malfoy!" She shouted.

Narcissa looked a bit put off—probably because you shouted at her!—but nevertheless waved affectionately. "Ginevra," she greeted her as she approached. She didn't reach out to hug her, though, instead smiling in a strained fashion. She seemed less open and warm than she had been the week prior, probably because of the public nature of this outing.

"Thank you again for going dress shopping with me," Ginny replied, trying to smooth over her awkward greeting.

"It is my pleasure," Narcissa responded formally.

She warmed up as the day wore on, and Ginny tried on dress after dress. She tried on everything from ballgowns to fitted dresses, but all felt as though they weren't quite right.

At one point, she tried on what was apparently her current wedding dress.

"For comparison?" Narcissa questioned with a raised eyebrow. Ginny stood there open-mouthed for a moment while she tried to catch Narcissa's meaning, but finally understood and nodded.

"Exactly." The dress was less garish than she expected, but she felt weighed down by the excessive beading, and was glad she wasn't wearing it down the aisle.

Finally, toward the end of the day, Ginny tried on a steel gray—"white was so muggle," Narcissa insisted—ballgown with a huge tulle skirt. As she stared at herself in the small mirror of her dressing room, she felt a tug of sadness as she realized that this was the dress. It wasn't just her favorite dress she had tried on, though; she could actually picture herself marrying Draco in it, and that was a feeling she wished she could remove as easily as a dress.

"Ginevra?" The sales assistant who helped her put on the dress questioned, snapping her out of her reverie. "What do you think of the dress?"

"It's perfect," she said with a tear falling down her cheek. "Sorry," she mumbled, wiping it away.

The sales assistant smiled and patted her reassuringly. "Brides often get emotional when they find the right dress."

"Yes. The right dress," Ginny repeated in a quiet voice.

Narcissa agreed heartily with her choice when she finally collected herself to leave the fitting room.

When she went back to the Manor, Draco was gone; he had to work all weekend, which was probably for the best. She was asleep before he returned.

She woke up to a blurry form of Draco buttoning the last buttons of what she gathered was his hospital uniform. She rubbed her eyes and sleepily asked him if he were leaving.

"I didn't mean to wake you, Gin," he whispered in lieu of response. "I'm on my way out."

Ginny nodded sleepily, clutching the pillow beneath her as she readjusted herself.

Draco sat on the edge of the bed opposite her. "How did dress shopping go?"

Ginny just groaned in response.

"You didn't find anything?"

"No. I found the dress." It's just that it made me more confused than ever about my feelings for you and made the wedding seem concrete to me, but yes, the dress was perfect.

"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Draco asked. Merlin, he's trying. He's really trying. Perhaps I should just ask him about everything—"say, Draco, what did you do that broke other me's heart?"

She looked into his eyes—a warm shade of gray, which she didn't even realize was possible—and wanted to spill her heart out. Instead, the girl who had spent the last several years on the opposite side of the war from the man who was now opposite her on the bed won out. "Yes. Just tired, sorry."

"No need to apologize," Draco responded, but the hurt edge of his voice betrayed him. "I'll be off. See you tonight."

"I'll be out," Ginny mumbled.

"Okay," Draco replied, not bothering to hide the sigh that followed.

That evening, she met Pansy at the same cocktail bar. She had tried to cram as many plans in as she could because she was trying to avoid her future husband, hating the nagging feeling that she was missing something. Part of her wanted him to be awful; then she could rid herself of the warm feeling she had when he walked in a room, or smiled at her. That would certainly be preferable.

But the mystery was tugging at her too much; and Pansy was supposed to be her best friend, after all.

"Pansy, could I ask you something?"

Pansy smiled. "Are we playing the memory game again?"

"Are you mocking me?"

She shrugged unapologetically. "I'm trying to make light of an unfortunate situation, Gin. Can you blame me?" She took a sip of her drink and draped her arm over the long wooden bench extending out to her left. "So?"

"Well…" Ginny hesitated. Pansy was good friends with Draco, after all. What if she mentioned it to him? But then again, would it be the worst thing? And she might lie, but she might not, after all. The same could be said for Draco, a nagging voice reminded her in the back of her head. It was the same voice that had an absurd crush on the man, and wanted to believe the best. It wasn't the voice that won. "Marie mentioned something about me being unable to forgive Draco for something, but I can't remember what it is."

Pansy studied her for a second, but she wasn't shocked as Marie was at the mere mention. "This again, Gin?"

"Again? I told you I can't remember it."

"Any of it?" Pansy looked disbelieving.

"No. Can you fill me in?"

"No."

"Excuse me?" Ginny asked, a bit surprised at Pansy's flat-out refusal. She was expecting at least a lie.

"I won't tell you. I think it's best you've forgotten. For the sake of your wedding jitters, I will tell you that Draco did nothing wrong. He simply did what the Dark Lord asked of him. Maybe if you had been able to forget about this years ago, you would be marrying someone more powerful." What the Dark Lord asked him? That certainly doesn't sound like "nothing wrong."

"I really have no idea what you're talking about," Ginny admitted.

"Good. Let's cheers to that." Pansy held up her drink and Ginny hesitated, not wanting to cheers to ignorance, but finally acquiesced with an unenthusiastic clink.

She got home from her excursion with Pansy likely reeking of alcohol. She had lost count of the number of cocktails she was having after four. As she flooed into the familiar bedroom that seemed almost to be hers—much like its inhabitant—she was greeted with the man himself.

"Draco," she greeted him. She felt a rush of attraction mingled with the frustration of the building mysteries surrounding him.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her knees bunched up to the right of her against his hip bone; Draco was horizontal, still in a button-up shirt, collar slightly askew and two buttons undone. He didn't say anything, instead smiling wearily at her.

"Thirteen days until we're married," Ginny said.

"Yes, that's true."

"Muggles say that thirteen is an unlucky number." Something she had learned from Hermione.

Draco chuckled. "How would you know what muggles say?"

Ginny shrugged. "I must have read or heard it somewhere."

Draco just shook his head, closing his eyes. He must have really been tired.

"Did I wake you up?" A nod. His eyes were still closed. "You're on my side of the bed." No response but a smirk.

Perhaps emboldened by the alcohol, Ginny slid down next to him, lifting his right arm up so she could duck under it and lay on his chest. She waited a beat as his arm stiffened, but it quickly relaxed as he pulled her toward him, closer than she expected.

Slowly, Ginny moved her hand to the open flap of his shirt, spreading it open wider and letting her hand settle there. His eyes opened at that point, searching hers. "What do you think?" He asked, his tone more serious than she was accustomed to.

"About what?"

"Is thirteen unlucky?"

"Not for us," she found herself saying before she could overthink it.

Draco nodded before closing his eyes again. She thought about making another move, but his deep breathing indicated that it would be fruitless.

She carefully untangled herself from the man next to her before flooing back to Hogwarts, saying the name of the castle as quietly as possible to not wake Draco.