Title: Once Upon a Masquerade
Rating: PG-13 (just to be safe)
Summary: Hermione decides to organize a masquerade ball, and she’s involved both Draco and Ginny in the plans. But the night of the ball turns out unexpectedly for both of them.

Disclaimer: All belongs to J.K. Rowling. All chapter titles are lyrics from Phantom of the Opera. After all, if any of it belonged to me, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 1: Let the Spectacle Astound You


“A masquerade ball?” Ginny gaped at Hermione in complete astonishment.

“Yes, isn’t it a wonderful idea?” Hermione beamed. “After all, Dumbledore’s been very into inter-house relations this year, and after the success of the Yule Ball three years ago -.”

Ginny wondered if now would be a suitable time to point out that the Yule Ball hadn’t managed to further relationships between schools, let alone between houses, and, anyway, only Hermione seemed to look back on the Yule Ball with any sense of enjoyment. Ginny herself only shuddered when she thought of that night. And she could definitely remember how the night had actually been for Hermione. But apparently minor problems, like fighting with one of her best friends, were unimportant when face to face with a solution for solving the never-ending quarrels between houses.

However, the Head Girl was still talking, so Ginny decided not to the mention any of these thoughts.

“- So Dumbledore agreed with me, and he’s allowing the prefects to be in charge of the ball. We’ll start preparations tomorrow at the prefect meeting,” Hermione continued.

“Uh, Hermione,” Ginny began hesitantly, “as fun as such a ball might be, how is it going to help inter-house relationships? I mean, a Ravenclaw might ask as Gryffindor, and a Hufflepuff might dance with a Ravenclaw, but there’s nothing special about that. Besides,” she added in what she hoped was a suitably dejected voice, “you know how everyone gets about the whole date issue. It’s always a lot more trouble that it’s worth.”

“But that is what’s so wonderful about this,” Hermione exclaimed. “It’s a masquerade ball. Only fourth years and above can attend, and only if they’re in costume with a mask. And dates are strictly prohibited. That way no one will know who anyone is and you could wind up dancing and chatting with someone you’d never consider talking to otherwise.”

“Until, of course, the person actually opens their mouth and speaks,” Ginny replied sarcastically. “I think everyone will recognize my hair and voice - or do you have a way to disguise everyone’s’ voices as well?”

“Of course, everyone will be completely disguised,” Hermione replied, not bothered at all by Ginny’s sarcasm. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to recognize someone’s voice when you can’t see their face.”

Hermione seemed so proud of her plan that Ginny couldn’t ruin it for her. But she could just see all the girls giggling over their costumes and finding out what the boy they fancied was going as and someone forgetting a mask all together…

“Ginny, you won’t tell anyone about this, will you?” Hermione continued. “Dumbledore’s announcing it tomorrow morning, and it’s supposed to be a surprise, but I just had to tell someone. I thought you could keep it a secret, otherwise I wouldn’t have told you. Ron and Harry don’t even know.”

Ginny glanced up, surprised. To be trusted over Harry and Ron? Sure, Hermione and her had grown closer recently, but that was because Hermione needed a female friend and all the girls in her year annoyed her. Ginny was the obvious next step, and so Ginny had become Hermione’s confidant when Hermione needed to complain about school, or house elves’ rights, or Ron and Harry, or anything else she just couldn’t tell her two best friends. They were, after all, rather insensitive and dense about some things. Plus it was nice for Ginny to have a friend, even though she wondered how much of what she said might accidentally get back to her brother.

She realized Hermione was gazing at her expectantly. Smiling brightly, Ginny replied,

“You know what, I think this will be a great success, Hermione. After all, anyone who likes to get dressed up and go to parties will have fun, and anyone who doesn’t can just not bother to go.” Ginny inched the smiled up a few notches. “Whatever I can do to help, please tell me.”

“Oh good, I’m so glad you think so.” Hermione clasped her hands together. “There’s so much to do, though. I have to start planning now – after I finish my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay and, of course, I still need to organize my notes from Potions and Charms…” with an absent nod and that all too familiar gleam in her eye at the thought of work, Hermione drifted out the door.

Ginny stared down at her Transfiguration homework, hoping she’d convinced Hermione that she actually liked this idea. Since she had offered to help, Hermione was unlikely to give her as much to do as she would a reluctant Ron or Harry, and perhaps Hermione wouldn’t even notice if Ginny chose not to attend. And one could only hope that the rest of the school would find the idea of a masquerade ball as terrible as she did. Perhaps then Hermione’s enthusiasm for the idea would wane – though if SPEW was anything to judge by, a negative reaction would have the opposite affect.

“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione’s head popped around Ginny’s door again. “What you said about people not wanting to go – you weren’t referring to yourself by any chance? Because I’ll need you there in case there’s no one else to talk to.”

“Ah,” Ginny replied smugly, “but you won’t know who I am, will you?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

A masquerade ball? What was the old fool talking about, Draco wondered as he absently stirred his coffee. As Head Boy surely he should have been told about this…

Oh wait; he did remember something about it now. Yes, Granger had been talking about it. In fact, she’d cornered him in the hallway this morning to tell him the details. No shame in that one. No idea that as a Malfoy and a Mudblood they had to hate each other. There weren’t any alternatives, at least in Draco’s mind.

In fact, having to work with an overachieving, interfering busybody like Granger who actually liked this whole inter-house cooperation thing, kind of took the fun out of being Head Boy. Ever since Potter and his faithful sidekicks had had their annual run in with disaster at the end of 6th year, while breaking a thousand school rules and actually getting rewarded for it, all Dumbledore had talked about was cooperating with other houses. He’d gone so far as to name a Slytherin and a Gryffindor Head Boy and Girl respectively so that they would have to work together. The fact that Draco was only Head Boy because The Boy Who Had Everything was a Gryffindor, like Granger, and, therefore, couldn’t be Head Boy, took some of the joy out of beating Potter.

“A masquerade!” Pansy squealed, squeezing his arm. “How exciting! I think I’ll be a mermaid – or a fairy – or -.”

“The point is not to tell anyone,” Draco drawled, extracting himself from her grasp. “So we can all make fools of ourselves.”

He strode off, ignoring the excited whispers about the ball. Not that he would be attending. No, juvenile school balls weren’t for Malfoys. Neither was dressing up and dancing around, or whatever else one did at all ball. And a masquerade ball would be even worse – having to put a paper mask over his face and parade around in costume – the horror!

“Malfoy! Malfoy!” an all too familiar voice followed him down the hall.

“A little louder, if you please, Granger, I can’t quite hear you,” he drawled. Completely ignoring his sarcasm, the bushy-haired brainiac grabbed his sleeve and turned him around.

“Please don’t touch me in public,” Draco snapped, pulling away.

“There you are, Malfoy,” Granger said triumphantly, as if he had never spoken.

“Was it some kind of competition – who could find the Malfoy first?” Draco sneered. “Well, you found me, off you go.”

“Are you bothering Hermione again?” Another loud, obnoxious voice joined the conversation. Draco groaned inwardly.

“I’ll have you know, Weasel, that she is bothering me,” he retorted. Weasley stepped forward angrily, but Hermione’s hand stopped him.

“Please, you two, don’t make everything so complicated,” she sighed. “Malfoy, I just wanted to remind you that there’s a prefect meeting tonight. We’ve got lots to do for the ball.” She was apparently unperturbed by any of Draco’s comments. Nothing seemed to bother her anymore. He could remember a time he had annoyed her enough to make her hit him. Was he losing his touch?

“That no dates rule,” Draco tried again, “Did you add that because you knew you wouldn’t have a date?”

“Hermione would have a date,” Weasley said hotly, glancing at her. Draco would have laughed, but Malfoys didn’t laugh in public. He smirked instead. So the Weasel still liked Granger. How cute. Pity the look on her face said she wasn’t having any of it.

“Come on, Ron, we’ll be late for Transfiguration.” She took his arm. “And I promised Harry I’d help him with his essay, remember?”

“Doing other’s homework, Granger? Tsk tsk.” Draco shook his head in mock-disapproval.

“I don’t do their homework, Malfoy, I help them,” Granger said righteously.

“True,” Draco replied. “If you did they’d have better grades.”

Granger paused, looking startled. Then she smiled. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me, Malfoy.” With that, she and Weasley were gone.

With dismay Draco realized he’d just spent ten minutes in conversation with two thirds of the Golden Trio without so much as a hex or real insult thrown their way. And Weasley hadn’t tried to kill him and he’d complimented Granger…

He was losing his touch.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Masquerade ball…instead of the Halloween Feast…improve inter-house relations…”

Ginny listened to Dumbledore explain the masquerade ball to the room. Toying with her breakfast she tried to block the noise out. How come she seemed to be the only who hated the idea of a ball – and who realized the idiocy of the whole idea?

“Oooh, how fun,” Lavender Brown, seated across from Ginny, squealed.

“We aren’t allowed to have dates?” Parvati Patil said for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Yes,” Ginny snapped, irritated. “That’s what he said.”

“Aw, Ginny, it’s ok,” Lavender said, misunderstanding Ginny’s mood. “You still might get to dance with Harry.”

“I don’t want to dance with Harry,” Ginny snapped. “I don’t want to go with him to the stupid ball. I don’t like Harry!”

Harry, seated a few seats down from Lavender, was staring at her. So was everyone else.

“Hey, thanks, Ginny,” he said and turned to Ron. “When did your sister start hating me?”

Ginny stared very hard at her plate.

“She doesn’t hate you, Harry,” Hermione explained. “She just doesn’t fancy you anymore. That was just a first and second year phase.”

Everyone else’s childhood crushes get forgotten, Ginny grumbled to herself. Mine gets announced to the whole table at breakfast.

“Hey, mate, don’t worry.” Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder. “She still likes you, she’s just in – uh, what’s it called again? Oh yeah, denial. She’s in denial about you.” He grinned as if he’d said something particularly clever.

“What are you talking about, Ron?” Hermione demanded irritably.

“Ginny,” Ron replied, as if it were obvious.

Ginny threw her fork down on her plate, and the clatter made the entire table turn and stare at her.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking about me as if I’m not sitting right here,” she snapped, standing up. “And I’m so glad to know that you know more about my feelings than I do.” She layered her voice so thickly with sarcasm that even Ron couldn’t miss it. With a final glare at her shocked brother, Ginny stormed out of the hall.

I don’t like Harry, she hissed to herself. Why couldn’t everyone else see that? Harry was nice, but he barely realized that she was there most of the time, and Ginny didn’t like being in anyone else’s shadow. In any relationship she had, she wouldn’t be hanging around, waiting to be noticed. Michael hadn’t realized that. He seemed to think her existence was dependent upon his wishes. Sure, she’d had fun with him, but it always had to be what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. He’d even expected her to lose at quidditch just for him! She hadn’t been too sad when that relationship ended.

Dean hadn’t been much better, even if he was the total opposite. He was so nice and sweet, but Ginny was sarcastic by nature, so when she was sarcastic around him, he always seemed hurt by it. He was just too nice, always dependent upon what she wanted to do, always willing to let her make the decisions. It drove her crazy, even though she knew it was hypocritical of her.

She’d wanted a happy medium, somewhere in between Michael and Dean. Instead she’d found Seamus - except he had definitely been more interested in her body than her mind. So off he’d gone.

Looking at the rest of the male population of Hogwarts, Ginny knew no one lived up to her standards – sweet but not too nice, funny but not obnoxious, opinionated but not a control-freak, intelligent but not arrogant…the list went on. And for the moment that was fine with her. Real relationships didn’t start in school anyway. She could wait for the right man to arrive.

But, unfortunately, her brother – and everyone else – thought the right one already had. He just wasn’t the one Ginny wanted. Harry probably bordered on too nice, besides being rather idiotic at times. And it wasn’t like he wanted anything to do with her either. But Ron just didn’t get it.

The only person that understood was Hermione, and that was because she was going through the same problem herself. The entire school had decided Ron and Hermione were a meant-to-be couple. Though Ginny wasn’t sure about her brother’s feelings, she knew that after their “kind of-sort of-not really” relationship the summer before their 6th year, Hermione wanted Ron to remain a friend.

And yet again, everyone thought differently. It’s my life, Ginny thought angrily, why won’t they let me live it my way?

~*~*~*~*~*~

As if my day could get any worse, Draco thought wearily. He’d woken up to be confronted by the awful thought of a masquerade ball, no doubt a more hideous spectacle than the Yule Ball had been. He’d spent far too much time in conversation with two of the most annoying people around without deriving any satisfaction from it. He’d spent the entire day dodging Pansy’s and the other Slytherin girls’ determined attempts to discover what he would be wearing to the ball – and he’d fooled them each time with different, yet equally ludicrous, costumes.

And here he was, in a prefect meeting, listening to Granger organize things for the bloody ball. And now her voice was even interrupting his thoughts.

“Well?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Draco drawled. “I got so bored of listening to you talk that I just dozed off.”

No one laughed. No one even smiled. Draco decided the opinions of the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff prefects shouldn’t bother him. But why were the other Slytherins just staring at him too? They should be able to appreciate his witty comebacks like that one.

He had really lost his touch.

“Well, let me inform you of what we’ve done so far,” Granger snapped in her best impression of McGonagall. “Since this is all about inter-house relations, we’re going to cooperate with each other. I’ve arranged all the various divisions – you’re going to work on the food with Ginny – that is, if it’s acceptable with you?”

Who knew Granger could be sarcastic? Malfoy thought. “No, sorry, that’s not acceptable with me.”

“Well, if you’d paid attention,” Granger replied icily, “You could have volunteered for clean-up, set-up, decorations, advertisements -.”

“It’s not that I object to,” Draco interrupted. “After all, I’m clearly the best person to be in charge of the food – I’ve been brought up on gourmet delicacies. No, I just don’t think I can work with a Weasley.” he glanced around, and didn’t see the youngest Weasley. “She’s not even here – clearly she’s not dedicated enough to assist me on this. Come to think of it, she probably doesn’t even know what gourmet means.”

Just as he hoped, Weasel himself stood up, his face red with anger. Unfortunately, Granger stopped him yet again.

“Oh, Ron, sit down,” she snapped. “I am so tired of you two! Malfoy, I don’t trust you to do anything, since you don’t know what responsibility means, and I do trust Ginny – so deal with it.”

It was true that Draco’s one enjoyment as Head Boy was taking points away from anyone he simply didn’t like and being above many of the school rules - and beating Potter, of course. Still, it wasn’t as if he purposely avoided his duties as Head Boy – Granger did them all for him.

“I’m hurt by your lack of confidence in me, Granger,” Draco drawled. “I’ve been trying so hard to earn your good opinion, after all.”

Granger’s response to this was to roll her eyes and return to whatever she had been talking about before. Draco returned to staring out the window. It was no good – whatever he said, the Mudblood didn’t even look bothered by it. He could probably call her a mudblood to her face, and she’d just roll her eyes. He had completely lost the famous Malfoy talent of annoying others. His father, all the way off in Azkaban, would hear about it and that would be the end of Draco.

Well, I suppose some quality time spent alone with the Weaselette couldn’t hurt, Draco mused. After all, she’s rather easy to annoy.

The thought gave him great pleasure.


~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny hadn’t gone to the Prefects’ meeting. They were always worthless anyway, with Hermione doing a lot of talking and no one else really paying attention. Besides, she figured if she wasn’t there, perhaps Hermione would forget to involve her in the masquerade ball preparations.

No such luck. Hermione went straight to Ginny’s dorm after the meeting, full of concern.

“Ginny, are you sick? You weren’t at the meeting, and you’re always so reliable, so I wondered -.”

Groaning inwardly, Ginny managed a shocked expression. “Oh, Hermione, I’m so sorry, I got so into my Potions homework, and you know what NEWT level Potions is like, and I completely forgot about the time -.”

The homework worked, like it did every time. Hermione relaxed. “It’s fine, Ginny, you need to concentrate on Potions. We didn’t do much, but I put you in charge of the food for the ball – you’re working with Malfoy.”

“Ok, Hermione.” Ginny’s attention was on the blank parchment lying in front of her. It took her a few moments to realize what Hermione had just said. “Wait, Malfoy? No, that’s not ok. I won’t work with him – what were you thinking?”

“Well, I suppose I could change it…” Hermione said hesitantly. “But, Ginny, it can’t be that bad -.”

“Oh, yes it could!” Ginny cried. “I won’t work with that arrogant, spiteful, malicious git. I’ll do anything if you’ll change it.”

The very idea of working with Malfoy filled her with horror. More jokes about Harry, no doubt, along with insults directed towards her family, her poverty, and whatever else about her he thought deserved ridiculing. She would not go through that, not even for Hermione.

“Oh, alright, I’ll work with you, and Malfoy can do something else,” Hermione sighed. “But only if you promise to go to the ball.”

“Anything,” Ginny sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

It was only after Hermione had left that Ginny realized what she had just promised – and how Hermione had probably arranged the whole thing just for that purpose.

She was tempted to throw something at the closing door as she wondered how, yet again, she had underestimated Hermione and been forced into doing something she wanted to be as far away from as possible.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Please, tell me what you think – reviews are always welcome.

Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter is all J.K. Rowling’s. Chapter title is from Phantom of the Opera. Cinderella was written by Charles Perault and Beauty and the Beast by Leprince de Beaumont. Credit for the menu goes to Epicurious.com and Bon Appetit Magazine’s “Elegant Winter Dinner.” If you’re curious, it’s at the end.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 2: Hide Your Face So the World Will Never Find You

Ginny surveyed the menu one last time. She was quite proud of herself; the house elves had liked her ideas and she hoped everyone else would too. Hermione had glanced at it quickly before rushing off to finish the decorations and she hadn’t had anything negative to say, so Ginny supposed it was suitable. Not that Hermione had looked too closely. As usual, hardly anyone had done what he or she was supposed to do for the ball, leaving a very active and irritable Hermione to organize the entire event.

That stupid ball! It was two days away and it was all anyone talked about. Ron and Harry had both come to her to ask about costume advice after Hermione had snapped at them for interrupting her. Ginny suggested that they dress up like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. When they were less than impressed by that idea (Ron had just stared at her with a bemused look on his face), she reminded them the whole purpose of the ball was secrecy.

Secrecy- hah! Everyone knew what everyone else was wearing. Parvati was going as a mermaid (surprise, surprise, Ginny thought), while Lavender had found the “perfect” dress, but couldn’t figure out what she should call herself. And in her Charms class the other day she’d heard one of the Ravenclaw girls, whose roommate was dating a Hufflepuff boy, whose cousin was in the same DADA class as the 7th year Syltherins, say that Pansy Parkinson would be wearing nothing at all! Ginny wouldn’t put it past her, though she had little faith in the rumor train.

“Stare at it long enough and it might just come to life,” an arrogant voice drawled from behind her. Startled, Ginny jumped and spun around to seen none other than Draco Malfoy standing there. “Oh, did I scare you?” he smirked.

“What do you want?” Ginny demanded irritably, her good mood long gone. The Head Boy had done nothing for the ball so far, even though he was in charge of setting up, and now he was standing in the middle of the Hall as if nothing was wrong, while everyone else rushed around setting up.

“Well, everyone else seems to be doing my job, so I thought I’d come to see what we’re to eat at this ball,” he replied. “You probably need my assistance now, little Weasel, as you’ve had so little experience with gourmet food.”

“I’ve had more than you,” Ginny retorted angrily. “At least I actually know how to cook. You probably make the house elves do all the work!”

“Of course,” Malfoy smirked again. “That’s what they’re there for.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned away, not wanting to bother with Malfoy anymore. But before she could move away, Malfoy had grabbed the menu from her hand and was reading it.

“Pumpkin juice and butterbeer? How very trite of you – surely we can expect something a little more elegant to drink?” he sneered. “Not to mention that it doesn’t go with the rest of the meal. Dilled gravlax is more common at cocktail parties, not at a formal ball. But if you’re going to have it, there’s no need for foie gras as well, because two appetizers is a bit much. And veal chops? Surely you could have thought of something more exotic than that! And lemon-barley pilaf? Where in the world did you come up with that?”

“I did a lot of research,” Ginny snapped, regretting it immediately when Malfoy only glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh really? Of course, you’ve never tasted any of this,” Malfoy said derisively. “Well, chocolate-amaretti tortes don’t go with this type of meal. Do you really plan to feed us this?”

“Yes,” Ginny snapped, flushing angrily as she grabbed the menu back. She wished she didn’t blush so easily; she knew her face was turning bright red. “So maybe I’ve never even seen half of this, and maybe butterbeer shouldn’t be served at a party like this, and maybe you have a problem with all of it, but, ferret, I don’t care!”

Head held high she stormed off towards the kitchen where she could find the house elves and force them to make this meal, dilled gravlax and all.

~*~*~*~*~*~

If Draco was completely honest with himself – and he was never completely honest if he could help it – he would have to admit that the little Weasel had come up with quite a decent menu. In fact, it was more than decent. Ignoring the butterbeer, it was the type of meal the Malfoy chef would serve. But he couldn’t have admitted that to her. After being dragged away from the Food Committee, only to find that he – a connoisseur of the finest delicacies – wasn’t needed there after all, well, it was just too much. Perhaps he’d succeeded in torturing the youngest Weasley into changing her menu and creating something disastrous instead.

He couldn’t deny how much fun it had been to torment her, though. Apparently the Malfoy gift of cruelty wasn’t completely lost. Granger had already snapped at him twice today. The Weaselette was near tears. Now if he could only get rid of Pansy, who was trying to discover what his non-existent costume was, he’d consider the day a successful one.

“Were you bothering my sister?” a loud voice demanded from behind Draco.

“Ah, Weasel.” Draco turned around, preparing to sharpen his tongue on the redheaded Gryffindor. “She needed my help on the menu for this grand catastrophe.”

“I hope you told her to get rid of the gravlax, or whatever they were,” Weasley said instantly, making a face. “Sounded disgusting to me.” He seemed to realize to whom he was talking and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t go near her again, Malfoy.”

“Can’t imagine why you think I’d want to.” Staring over Weasley’s shoulder, Draco saw Pansy enter the hall, glancing around as if looking for someone. He wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to find her target. Abandoning the torture of Weasel, he moved away quickly. But not too quickly – Malfoys never run away.

Making his way back to his room, Draco thought about the letter he’d received earlier today. His mother, ever the fashion queen, had heard about the ball and had written with many costume suggestions. Since it was the first time Draco had heard from her in months, he figured his attire – and an opportunity for his mother to design some elegant outfit - meant more to her than the well being of her son. Of course, there was a certain reputation to think of; Malfoys always looked better than all the other lesser beings in the room. But her ideas of going as a knight, or a king, or an ancient Olympian god had all been ridiculous. Armor wasn’t really conductive to, well, anything and there was no way he was going to put on a toga, even if it meant having a chance to play Zeus.

Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway, stunned he was even considering this. He wasn’t going, right? The whole thing was ridiculous and a waste of time.

The truth was, Draco kind of liked the idea of going in a costume – one no one else knew about. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with Crabbe and Goyle following him around, or Pansy chasing after him. No one would know who he was, so he could pretty much do whatever he wanted.

For one night it wouldn’t matter if he was a Malfoy or not.

As much as he did not want to admit it, the idea had a lot of appeal.

And, of course, he could just owl his mother’s fashion designer for a costume.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny examined herself in the mirror one last time. The white gown sparkled in the light as she smoothed down the skirt that billowed out from the tight bodice. It was a dress from a fairytale, something every little girl dreamed of wearing. But Ginny felt very much a young woman in it – elegant and perhaps even beautiful. She smiled triumphantly at her reflection. After hours of Transfiguring her dress robes just for this night, her costume was finished and she was pleased with her work.

Though Ginny had spent many hours silently grumbling about the stupid ball, the idea for her costume had done much to make the spectacle ahead a little less horrifying. Now that she was actually wearing it, Ginny wondered why she’d ever thought a masquerade ball was a stupid idea.

Next she cast a glamour over her hair. Tonight she wouldn’t be a Weasley – no red hair for her. Turning her head to one side she saw a deep brown, which was soon overtaken by a blonde, while the light on the other side of her head caught a light brown and a hint of auburn, all in a cascade of curls. Perfect.

Sticking her wand into her bodice she put the silver mask over her eyes and turned to the final touch – glass slippers.

Well, she couldn’t be Cinderella without them, could she?

Hermione had a book of Muggle fairytales, complete with beautiful illustrations. Ginny had fallen in love with it as soon as Hermione had shown it to her. Let others laugh; the Muggle fairytales entranced her. When Hermione had decided to go as Beauty, from Beauty and the Beast, Ginny knew immediately who she wanted to be. The picture of Cinderella going to the ball in that beautiful dress, with her pumpkin carriage led by mice Transfigured into horses was Ginny’s favorite. And Ginny felt a bit like Cinderella – always dreaming that her rags would be turned into riches.

Well, she had her wish, at least for tonight.

Everyone else had already left, which was probably just as well. She didn’t want anyone to identify the elegant princess as Ginny Weasley. That was why she had decided not to go with Hermione, Harry and Ron or any of her other friends, even though they had all insisted. With everyone going in groups, she was probably the only person whose costume was a secret. The whole idea behind that masquerade ball was pretty much ruined; even Hermione had told everyone she was going as Beauty. She had also tried to convince either Harry or Ron to go as the Beast, but neither of them had liked that idea. The end result was the inevitable quidditch player outfit. Ginny figured there’d be enough people at the ball similarly attired to make up more than one team.

Slipping her feet into the glass slippers – triply charmed with Unbreakable charms – Ginny took a deep breath. It wasn’t like she wanted to find her prince tonight, or anything silly like that. She just wanted to spend one night as anyone other than Ginny Weasley.

Leaving her room, Ginny walked through the common room, empty of all but a few young students, all of whom stared at her with the jealousy and curiosity of young children not allowed to do something their elders are doing. But Ginny hardly noticed them, so intent as she was upon reaching the Great Hall.

As soon as she entered, Ginny had to stop and marvel at Hermione’s skill. The entire room seemed to glow, with lights hanging from the starry ceiling, and evergreen trees shimmering along the walls. Tables lined one side of the room, where a few people mingled, eating snacks, and a band was at the far end of the room, playing slow music. A few brave souls had moved to the middle of the floor to dance, including a few of the teachers. Hagrid was hard to miss, even in his costume (not that Ginny could really figure out what the brightly colored, furry costume was supposed to be), and Professor Dumbledore appeared to be dressed like a Muggle clown.

Moving along the outskirts of the crowd, Ginny noticed how few people were really trying to remain disguised. Some people had even taken of their masks. She spotted Hermione, wearing a yellow gown and sharply ordering someone around, while Harry and Ron, her broom-carrying bodyguards, stood at either side silently. Moving behind them, Ginny tried to make her way to the other side of the room.

“Where’s Ginny?” she overheard Ron demand loudly. “Hermione, don’t you know what she’s wearing? And why wouldn’t she come with us? I don’t want her going off with Seamus or anyone else again. Of course, she can dance with Harry.”

Rolling her eyes, Ginny moved away before the trio could see her. How typical of Ron to be worrying about with whom she was dancing. He was easily the most protective of her brothers.

Stationing herself in the corner, by a door to the outside, Ginny watched everyone else dance by and wondered how Cinderella had managed to attract the attention of the prince with so little effort.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco downed another glass of punch while irritably surveying the room again. It was so easy to see where everyone was. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to think their Slytherin quidditch outfits were acceptable at a masquerade ball; Pansy was wearing some skimpy, glittery thing, though Draco didn’t know who – or what – she was trying to be; and Granger was bustling around in bright yellow, presumably dressed up as Beauty.

“As if she could personify beauty,” Draco muttered to no one in particular. “Pity she didn’t get one of her sidekicks to dress up as the Beast – not that they’d need a costume.”

He glanced around again, desperately hoping that someone decently and interestingly disguised would appear. After all, he had come to avoid his usual acquaintances. And so far no one had guessed who he was.

He had decided to skip the fashion designer and, in a very un-Malfoy like move, created his own costume. He knew his parents wouldn’t approve of their only son dressed as a pirate (“Too common, my dear,” his mother would sniff. “We’re better than coarse thieves.”), but something about their rich, extravagant and wild lifestyle had always intrigued Draco – with emphasis on the rich part.

“I think I’ll go wander outside,” Draco announced to thin air. He sauntered towards the doorway and out into the gardens, away from the dreadful music.

The only sound that could be heard there was the splashing of the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Wondering if this fountain was normally there or if Granger had created it too, Draco walked around it.

And came face to face with – well, he didn’t know who she was. He prided himself on his knowledge of Hogwarts girls. He knew all of the Slytherin girls and most of the Ravenclaws, as well as any of the Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors worth noticing – and quite a few of them not worth noticing too – but she certainly wasn’t any of them. He couldn’t really tell what color her hair was and her eyes were hidden behind a mask, but there was something intriguing about her all the same. She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, her white dress spread out around her.

“Oh!” she cried when she saw him.

“Enjoying the moonlight alone?” Draco queried. He sat down on the bench opposite her, wondering if the Malfoy charm would work even with a mask on.

“It was getting a bit stuffy in there,” she replied, turning her head to glance at the Great Hall. Draco could see browns, blonds and reds in her hair, but no sign of what her true hair color was.

“I don’t think I know you,” he said finally, because she seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

“Well, it is a masquerade ball, that’s the whole idea,” she retorted with a touch of sarcasm.

“Alright then, no names,” Draco smiled. The girl smiled back, but made no effort to start a conversation. He was studying her dress, wondering if she was another one of the many princesses at the ball, when he spotted the glass slippers on her feet.

“Cinderella!” he cried, without thinking. She gave him a surprised look.

“You know?” she asked. “So few witches and wizards do.”

“My mother used to read Muggle fairytales to me when I was little,” he explained, feeling more than a little ashamed as he admitted to it. It was a good thing she didn’t know who he was – imagine someone finding out that Malfoys read fairytales, and Muggle ones at that!

“Ah,” she smiled. “Her – my friend has a book, and I’ve always loved the story of Cinderella.”

“That was my favorite too,” Draco replied, surprising himself with his own words. He tried to tell himself that he was just saying what she wanted to hear, but he had always liked that one best.

“You’re a pirate,” she stated. Draco thought that, give his attire, that was evident.

“Always seemed like a good lifestyle,” he replied.

“Plundering and pillaging? Full of swashbuckling and treasure?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

“I’d be a rich pirate,” Draco smirked.

“The best kind,” she agreed, clearly trying to hide her laughter. “A poor pirate holds so little glamor.”

“Pity I get seasick so easily,” Draco said, instantly wondering why he has just said that. Why couldn’t he control what he was saying to this stranger?

“That might be a small problem,” she agreed mock-seriously. “It would take all the fun out of it if you were constantly sick.”

“Definitely not in my career path then,” Draco agreed. “What about you – waiting for your prince to come?”

“Huh!” she gave an unladylike snort. “As if. I think pirating sounds more fun than scrubbing floors until the right man shows up.”

“Yet you decided to be Cinderella?” Draco pointed out.

“Why do men always think that a woman can’t be independent and successful and still like looking pretty – or dreaming about Prince Charming turning up?” she asked rhetorically. “I can transform myself into Cinderella for the night, but in reality Prince Charming still won’t be here tomorrow. Cinderella would have been far better off throwing her broom in her stepmother’s face and leaving.”

Until she said that, Draco had been so sure that she wasn’t a Slytherin. Slytherins didn’t admit to having read Cinderella. Slytherin women were far more likely to dress up as the evil fairy from Sleeping Beauty.

Draco realized with a pang that he, Draco Malfoy, head of Slytherin, had just admitted to reading Cinderella.

“Not much for the fairy godmother to do, then,” he pointed out, ignoring the little part of him that was criticizing his most un-Malfoy-like behavior. What ever happened to a simple seduction?

“That’s what I need,” the girl said, brightening. “A fairy godmother!”

“Or a genie in a magic lamp,” Draco agreed, betraying his level of knowledge of fairytales once again.

“I prefer the fairy godmother – unlimited amount of wishes, no restrictions,” she replied, voicing yet another Slytherin point of view that made Draco wonder. She smiled at him. “What would you wish for?”

The question took him by surprise. What would he ask for? In a much more Malfoy-like manner, he instantly dismissed anything that didn’t directly benefit him. But other than unlimited wealth, more mindless slaves, the extinction of all creatures like Potter, Weasley and Granger, what did he want?

She was watching him curiously, so Draco decided to change the subject. “What would you wish for?”

“To be someone else – someone visible,” she replied, with a trace of bitterness. “People never see me. They think they know me, but they really don’t.”

It was an interesting wish – and one that made Draco uncomfortably empathetic.

“But that’s what we are tonight,” he pointed out. “Different people.”

“But still invisible.” Her eyes met his and she smiled ruefully. “So you’re no pirate and I’m no Cinderella. How many other people do you think chose a costume tonight in order to pretend to be something they’re definitely not?”

“Judging by the quidditch team of appalling players, I’d say quite a few,” Draco replied.

“Are you the expert on quidditch prowess now?” she queried.

“I happen to be quite good, thank you,” Draco retorted, stung. When she only laughed, he relaxed slightly. “Well, anyone wearing a Chudley Cannons uniform obviously knows nothing about quidditch.”

Soon they were locked in an impassioned quidditch discussion. Draco was surprised at how much she knew about quidditch. He couldn’t remember having a conversation about quidditch with any of the girls he’d dated – or one about fairytales, pirates and fairy godmothers either.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember ever having an interesting conversation with any girl. Who was she?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny had gone outside to find some solitude where Ron couldn’t find her and throw her at Harry. Instead she’d found an elegantly dressed pirate, wearing all black except for the red velvet cape. His mask had a patch across one eye and a pirate’s hat complete with skull-and-crossbones sat askew on his head. The sword that hung at his waist and the hook for a hand completed the outfit.

And not only did he look like he’d just stepped out a book, he had read – and enjoyed – Cinderella and could argue quite passionately, but fairly, about quidditch. So many boys just wanted to talk about their views of quidditch and treat her like a silly girl who didn’t know anything – if they wanted to talk at all.

This stranger was leaning across the fountain, drawing pictures in the air with his hook and eagerly explaining the fault and strengths of the Holyhead Harpies, a team that most boys dismissed.

Ginny didn’t know when she’d been happier. In fact, she was so eagerly inspecting him she didn’t notice he’d stopped talking and was pulling the end of his cape out of the fountain, where it seemed to have fallen.

“Damn fountain, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t here yesterday,” he muttered, drying his cape with a flick of his wand.

“So why did you come out here?” Ginny asked, desperate to say something. The minute she did she felt like eating her words again – could she sound any ruder?

He didn’t seem bothered by it. “The obnoxious music and intolerable chattering was getting on my nerves,” he replied, with a trace of arrogance. “I thought I’d try to find some more sophisticated company.” With a slow smile, he added, “And here you are.”

Ginny hadn’t grown up with six brothers and endured three boyfriends to be unable to distinguish outrageous flirting when she saw it. Normally she had a sharp remark for whoever tried such worthless lines on her.

This time she blushed.

“Why are you hiding out here?” he continued.

“I didn’t want my brother to see me,” she admitted. “I doubt he’d recognize me, but he can be pretty persistent and he keep trying to set me up with Har - his friend.”

“Are you going to throw a broom in his face?” he asked. Ginny laughed at the thought, though she knew that for all her view of what Cinderella should have told her family, Ginny could never do it herself.

“That’s easier said than done, isn’t it?” she replied, hoping he didn’t think her dreadfully hypocritical.

“Very,” he agreed with a smile. “I’ll throw it in his face for you, if you want.”

“I might just take you up on that,” she laughed, enjoying the mental picture.

“Hungry?” he asked abruptly. “I hear the food’s good.”

“Really?” Ginny asked, hiding her elation over the praise of her addition to the ball.

“You can’t go wrong with dilled gravlax,” he smiled.

“I’ve never had it,” Ginny replied, awkwardly. She was sure that this mysterious stranger had tasted and experienced many of the exotic things she had only read about.

“Perhaps we should venture inside and find some,” he suggested. Ginny glanced towards the Great Hall, where she saw Ron arguing with Hermione, over something petty no doubt.

“Uh,” Ginny ransacked her brain for a decent excuse. “Maybe -.”

“Oh, you’re hiding from your brother,” he nodded. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure you taste it some other time, then.”

The idea of meeting him again thrilled Ginny. Then again, maybe this was all just a dream, some farfetched fairytale. Or maybe he would be extremely dull out of costume.

Ginny really couldn’t imagine this man as dull, even if he didn’t look always like a pirate. Though the realization that she didn’t know who he was, but would probably recognize him on a normal day, had crossed her mind, she preferred to think of him as someone new and exciting whom she had never seen before.

“I’ll remind you of that,” she retorted with a smile.

He moved closer to her, still smiling that smile which made Ginny feel very nervous - in a very good way.

Ginny turned around so she was facing him and let her glass slippers fall to the ground. Dangling her feet in the water, she wondered why she couldn’t think of anything to say. Earlier she’d certainly had enough to say – about Cinderella, and her one wish, and quidditch.

She was so busy thinking about what to do next, she didn’t realize what he was doing until he was kissing her.

Ginny had been kissed before, plenty of times. But all of those kisses had been a bit of a disappointment. For all her feminist outlook on life, Ginny was a romantic at heart. She’d always dreamed of some handsome, elegant man kissing her under the stars. And the kisses of her dreams were always electrifyingly sweet and breathtakingly perfect.

Which was exactly how she felt now.

When he pulled away, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “You never answered my question – about your wish.”

“I just did,” he replied, before kissing her again.

Ginny knew it was unbelievably corny and normally she would have laughed at anyone who thought she would fall for that. But right then she didn’t care.

Considering her transformation from rags to riches, her meeting with him and the way the entire night had played out like a fairytale, in hindsight she realized it was fitting that it should end at midnight.

At the time, however, she didn’t think it fitting at all.

The chiming clock caused Ginny to remember Hermione warning her earlier to meet her in the Great Hall for clean-up at midnight. The memory of Hermione’s tone and her knowledge of her irrepressible friend forced Ginny back to reality.

“I-I have to go.” She spluttered, jumping to her feet. In a moment Hermione – and maybe even Ron or Harry - would turn up to drag her back to the Hall and everything would be ruined. In her frantic mind she envisioned her dress turning back into her old dress robes and her prince – er, pirate – laughing at the thought of having mistaken Ginny Weasley for someone else.

She ran into the Hall, where people were slowly drifting away, and found Hermione organizing a massive clean up of the food-strewn hall. Ginny made her presence know to Hermione, and after enduring various remarks about her costume and her whereabouts that evening – ranging from Hermione’s abstractly irritable remarks to Ron’s accusatory ones – she managed to escape without a job to do.

It was only when she arrived in Gryffindor Tower that she realized she had never discovered his real identity.

And that she’d left her glass slippers behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: It took many drafts to come up with suitable costumes and conversations for Draco and Ginny. Cinderella was a pretty easy choice, and I thought Draco would make a good pirate, but I hope that their conversation is in character enough. And I have absolutely no idea what dilled gravlax actually is, but it sounded interesting. J

Thanks for all the reviews!

Pumpkin juice
Butterbeer
* * * *
Dilled Gravlax with Mustard Sauce
Foie Gras and Cream Eggs
* * * *
Veal Chops with Rosemary Butter
Pancetta Green Beans
Lemon-Barley Pilaf
* * * *
Chocolate-Amaretti Tortes

A/N: This was undoubtedly the hardest chapter to write. Keeping Draco and Ginny in character here…well, tell me if I succeeded.

Chapter 3: Who can name the face?

“I really do think it was a great success,” Hermione smiled brightly as she neatly cut up her pancakes. “Everyone seemed to enjoy his or herself and I’m sure it made a great impact on house relationships.”

The day following the ball Hermione seemed to have forgotten all the mishaps that went into arranging the ball, and the fact that no one really bothered to stay in costume and was proudly telling anyone who would listen all about it.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Ron said tactlessly. “You were complaining about how everybody had taken their masks off and no one had helped you at all -.”

“Well, now I think it went very well,” Hermione interrupted peevishly. “I was only annoyed last night because you and Harry wouldn’t help me with anything and…”

Ginny blocked out the rest of Hermione and Ron’s bickering. Ever since her arrival at breakfast all she had heard was a run down of the details from the masquerade ball. She’d pretended to know what Hermione was talking about and, luckily, no one had said anything about her activities at the ball. This was just as well, because Ginny didn’t feel like explaining to her brother that she’d met a masked pirate who could well be the prince charming about whom she’d always dreamed.

“Ginny’s costume was beautiful,” Hermione said, interrupting Ginny’s thoughts. “I’d love to know how you cast that glamour.”

“Where were you last night, Ginny?” Ron asked accusatorily, reminded of his sister’s existence by Hermione.

Just my luck, she thought with an inner sigh. She didn’t think the excuse she’d used last night – “oh, around” – would work now.

“Well, it’s hard to mingle at a ball when you don’t want to announce who you really are,” Ginny replied. “So I was outside for awhile.”

“Alone?” Ron said sharply.

“Of course,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Like I said, I couldn’t talk to anyone because I was trying to keep my disguise a secret.”

“I’m so glad you listened to what I said,” Hermione murmured. “But we would have loved to see you.”

Ginny was saved from any further explanation by the arrival of the post – and what a post it was! Although the main post day was always Saturday, there had never been anything like this. Owls swooped down to ever girl’s seat and delivered a scrap of parchment to each of them. Giggles and chatter erupted as the Hogwarts girls read their letters.

“Oh my!” Hermione exclaimed. “What is this?”

Ginny opened hers, her eyes widening as she read it:

If Cinderella wishes to reclaim the fragile item she left behind last night, she should return to the place from where it came tonight at the hour when this item should return to dust.

No wonder everyone was exclaiming over the mysterious bit of parchment. Ginny felt herself blush and hoped no one would notice her embarrassment and excitement. He was trying to contact her!

And he had her glass slippers, which was definitely a good thing. She’d transfigured her only pair of shoes into glass slippers, so this morning she’d had to transfigure her slippers into shoes. She knew they wouldn’t remain shoes for too long, and it was too much trouble to be constantly transfiguring her shoes and slippers back and forth, but Ginny couldn’t afford a new pair.

She just hoped no one would understand the letter.

“What!” Ron exclaimed, reading over Hermione’s shoulder. “Who sent this? Who’s Cinderella?”

“Well, if the sender knew who to send it to, Ron, we wouldn’t all be reading it,” Hermione replied sharply. “It appears someone – two someones – kept their identities a secret last night.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco watched with well-concealed satisfaction as all the girls in the room began to whisper and giggle over the letter. He’d stayed up early into the morning planning what to say and how to get it to her. It irked him that she’d run away last night. They’d been having such a good conversation, and then, after he kissed her – and, he admitted, used a very corny line – she’d just run off. Just like Cinderella – except he didn’t think she was the type to follow the story so perfectly.

Accident or not, she’d left her slippers there and he figured she’d want her them back.

If his real reason for wanting to meet her again was different, he wasn’t going to admit to it.

“What is this?” Pansy cried. “Who’s Cinderella?”

“If you don’t understand it, ignore it,” Draco drawled. “It has nothing to do with us, Pansy.”

“Of course.” Pansy put the letter down, barely concealing her curiosity. But there were more pressing things on her mind. “Where were you last night, Draco?”

“I didn’t go,” Draco replied. “Was it very juvenile and boring?”

Pansy smiled, fluttering her eyelashes in a way she thought everyone found attractive. “It wouldn’t have been if you’d been there.”

Draco managed a smirk in her direction, before returning to his perusal of the room. She was there, somewhere, in the mass of chattering girls. Draco didn’t know if it was curiosity, a need to satisfy his ego, or something entirely different that prompted this drastic act. Normally he didn’t have to chase after a girl, but he wouldn’t leave things like this - no one ran away from a Malfoy like that!

Leaving the Great Hall, he prepared for a busy Saturday. He had a lot of homework to catch up on, and now was as good a time as any to do it; plus, he’d scheduled an extra quidditch practice. He needed something to stop him from thinking about midnight.

Turning a corner he spotted the Golden Trio, whispering about something.

“Keeping secrets, are we?” Draco drawled. “Naughty, naughty.”

“Get lost, Malfoy,” Weasley snarled.

“That feeling of inter-house cooperation fizzling?” Draco queried with a smirk. “Pity; I do so love warm, fuzzy emotions like that.”

“Considering how much you helped with ball – and how you didn’t even bother to show up – we wouldn’t know,” Granger retorted, her hand restraining a growling Weasley.

He really didn’t feel like fencing with the Gryffindors today, though - not that these three required much effort to annoy. Before Potter could try to be brave and noble and offer to beat him up, Draco walked off.

“Oh, Granger,” he called back after he’d walked a few steps. “You shouldn’t wear yellow – it’s terrible with your complexion.”

Smirking as he heard their angry yelps, Draco sauntered away, his thoughts focusing on the previous night.

Not that he, a Malfoy, was actually thinking about her.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny barely managed to concentrate on anything that day; she was so focused on that night. As she did her homework, practiced quidditch, and listened to Luna babble about something, she couldn’t stop the feelings of apprehension and excitement. Even Luna seemed to notice that Ginny’s head was in the clouds; Ron certainly did, demanding to know why her flying was less than spectacular. Ginny couldn’t give either of them a reason.

Finally the night arrived. Once all her roommates were asleep Ginny snuck out of her dormitory. Luckily the prefect’s bathroom was deserted – Ginny didn’t want to explain to anyone why she was putting on normal clothes and fixing her hair at midnight. None of her efforts could make her look beautiful, especially so late at night, so Ginny gave up and set off for the Great Hall, hoping she didn’t run into Mrs. Norris.

The courtyard was devoid of a fountain tonight, so Ginny sat down on a bench to wait. A few moments later she was up and pacing around the courtyard. Where was he? Was he planning on coming at all?

She heard footsteps, which threw Ginny into a flurry of emotions. Was it he? For that matter, who was he? Or maybe it was someone else, a teacher or prefect? Quickly she hid behind a bush, her pulse racing. Ginny didn’t ever remember being so nervous.

When she saw to whom the footsteps belonged, she sighed inaudibly. The figure was dressed all in black, but Ginny could see his hair in the moonlight - Draco Malfoy.

How dare he interrupt my evening? Ginny thought angrily. She wished he’d hurry up and leave so her pirate could arrive. After a few moments of crouching there her legs began too hurt, so she was happy when he turned, as if he to leave.

Then she saw the glass slippers in his hand.

Without thinking, she gasped loudly and fell over the bush in her attempt to get away. No, no, this is not happening.

“Weasley?” Malfoy sneered. “What are you doing here? Are you so used to sleeping on the floor in the cold that you had to come out here?”

“You?” Ginny gasped, waving her hand at the slippers. All his taunts and sneers over the past few years filtered through her mind. It was impossible that Malfoy was her pirate.

Understanding seemed to dawn, and for the first time Ginny saw real emotion of Malfoy’s face. Then he quickly concealed his astonishment behind his usual facade of contempt and scorn.

“Weasley?” he repeated. “Ah, Cinderella, how appropriate. She had to sleep on the floor too.”

“As you would know,” Ginny retorted, standing up, “considering how it was your favorite fairytale. And here I thought the Malfoys just tortured their children.”

Well, she wasn’t going to let him walk all over her like normal, now was she?

“We’re not all like my father,” he snapped.

“A pirate; stealing from others for personal wealth,” Ginny continued musingly. “How like a Malfoy.”

“Rich pirates were glamorous enough for you last night,” Malfoy sneered. “Remember?”

“I remember that you get sea sick easily,” Ginny retorted, knowing it was weak. She was pleased to see that he winced slightly as her mind raced through her own confessions.

“And the poor little Weaselette wants someone to notice her,” Malfoy smirked. “Potter perhaps? Or is that who you were hiding from last night?”

“Yes, if you must know,” Ginny spat. “You’re not the only one that gets sick of them.”

“I’d like to see you throw a broom in Weasel’s face,” Malfoy muttered. “That would make people notice you.”

“It has crossed my mind,” Ginny replied, forgetting for a moment to whom she was talking. Then there was a silence as they both remembered why they were there.

“You said you liked the food,” Ginny mused aloud. “But the other day…”

“It was a good menu, Weasley,” Malfoy snapped. “Happy?”

“No,” Ginny scowled. “Why did you want to find me?”

“For the same reason you came,” Malfoy retorted.

“I came to get my slippers back,” Ginny snapped, head held high. “No other reason.” She didn’t know if that was directed at Malfoy or at herself. Maybe if she lied enough she could convince ever herself that she’d never even liked him last night.

“Of course not,” Malfoy sneered. There was a long silence, while Ginny searched for a comeback.

His voice broke the silence. “Why did you run away?”

So that was why. “Ego hurt?” she snapped. “Maybe I found your flirting too corny and ridiculous.”

“You obviously didn’t last night,” Malfoy smirked. “You thought I was your Prince Charming. You thought you were in love. You thought -.”

“As if,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Then she realized that she’d actually kissed Malfoy the night before. What would Ron think? her mind hissed.

Why should I care what Ron thinks? another part of her mind retorted. I can do whatever I want.

Shaking her head, she responded to his last comment. “My Prince Charming wouldn’t be like you at all. He wouldn’t make fun of my family or my poverty or find every opportunity to laugh at me.”

“I was talking about me last night,” Malfoy replied. Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but she realized she didn’t know what to say. Last night he had no been Malfoy, that was true, but it didn’t change how he treated her normally.

“Last night!” Ginny cried finally. “You were just flirting with me because you thought I was the only girl whom you hadn’t already seduced or tortured.”

“So?” he replied. “At least I noticed you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Ginny felt her face turning red, though whether it was with anger or embarrassment she didn’t know. “You noticed a glamorous girl who looked pretty with all the charms and fancy clothes – that’s not me, just like you’re not a pirate who likes fairytales and quidditch. It was a dream.”

She felt like crying, though she didn’t know why. I am not this upset over a stupid dream not come true, she told herself. And I will not cry in front of Malfoy.

She caught him off guard as she grabbed the shoes from his hand.

“Thank you,” she said coldly. “I’ll be going now.”

Head held high she marched off, determined to be far away from Malfoy before she started crying.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco stared after her retreating form with annoyance. After the shock of discovering that Cinderella was the Weaselette and ensuing battle of words, it was odd that the one thing that stood out in his mind was the fact the she had never answered his question. Why did he care? Sure, that was the reason he’d sent the messages and wandered out in the cold in the middle of the night in the first place, but it wasn’t like he cared about Weasley’s thoughts. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her voice or – or whatever else he should have recognized.

The thing was, before last night he’d always thought of her as the Golden Trio’s adoring shadow; a quiet, invisible girl who he could mock in order to annoy her brother and Potter. He didn’t know that they annoyed her too, or that she knew Muggle fairytales, or that she knew so much about quidditch, or that she could be quite so sarcastic and volatile when she wanted to be. It was odd how much you could learn about one person in just a few hours.

It was even odder that he, a Malfoy, was finding the girl he had once dismissed as the head of Potter’s fan club far more intriguing than she should have been.

Well, he had to give her credit for not letting him get the best of her just now. He didn’t really know who had won the argument, but he didn’t think it was him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sundays were always boring, but this one especially so; no quidditch practice, no homework, nothing to think about.

Draco wandered outside, not quite sure what he was doing. The whole catastrophe with the littlest Weasel was over – he’d made a fool of himself, she’d made a fool of herself, and that was that. He could go find some other girl now, or create scathing remarks to throw at the Gryffindors.

Instead he, Draco Malfoy, was wondering why she, a Weasley, had run away from him.

His father would definitely be cursing him from Azkaban.

He realized that he had wandered towards the quidditch pitch where the Gryffindor team was just ending practice. Potter and Weasley were discussing something while the rest of the team headed towards the changing rooms.

And the girls’ changing room was behind him.

Draco considered walking in the other direction. He contemplated thinking up something harsh to say and then walking away. He thought about ignoring her existence altogether and hoping she did the same to him.

But he didn’t do any of that.

“Weasley,” he said as she passed. She stopped and slowly turned towards him.

“Malfoy,” she said just as coldly.

“You never answered my question,” he said dumbly.

“You never answered mine,” she replied. She must have noticed his blank face, for she elaborated, “What would your one wish be? Well, you did answer, but that was corny and not even true the other night.”

“To be noticed as someone other than a Malfoy,” Draco said automatically. If it were possible he would have turned around and stared at his own mouth incredulously. Had he really just said that?

Weasley looked surprised too.

“Being a Malfoy is so hard for you?” she snapped.

“It is when people think I steal from others for personal wealth or that my parents torture their children or that I torture people for fun. Well,” he amended, “I do, I supposed, but tell me you don’t enjoy verbally torturing your brother.”

“It can be amusing,” she said hesitantly, as though it pained her to agree with him.

“So maybe I am a bit of a pirate – but at least I’m a pirate who likes fairytales and quidditch,” he said, quoting her words from last night.

She laughed, which made Draco smile for some strange reason. He didn’t normally make people laugh.

She stopped laughing and looked at him seriously. “I left because I thought Hermione, Ron and Harry were going to come looking for me, and I didn’t want you to realize who I was.”

“Really?” Draco stared, realizing what a simple reason it had been. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she nodded. Then she smiled slightly and asked, “You don’t really like fairytales, do you?”

“I used to,” Draco replied. “But don’t let that get around – it would ruin my reputation.”

“And we can’t have that,” she agreed with a smile. “I thought you wanted to break away from the Malfoy mold?”

“I thought you wanted to throw a broom in your brother’s face?” he retorted.

She glanced at the one in her hand and laughed again. “Touché.”

“I think I promised you dilled gravlax, didn’t I?” Draco said, wondering what he was doing. He was mad, that was it. Ginny – Weasley – whatever she was called – was driving him crazy. One minute she was screaming at him and the next she was laughing and then she was making sarcastic retorts again.

Draco Malfoy was never one to avoid a challenge.

And think of Weasel and Potter’s reactions, he told himself. Yes, that was why he was doing this.

Draco realized that he lied to himself a lot.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny had spent all night and day silently fuming at Draco Malfoy. How dare he be so sweet in a flirtatious, debonair way, so amusing in a sarcastic way, and able to argue with her? How dare he be so perfect when he was anything but? How dare he confuse her like this?

And then he turned up, showing her once again that there was another side to Draco Malfoy; a side she had never seen before.

He’s mean to your brother and his friends, part of her insisted.

Somebody needs to be, she retorted. And it’s not like I’m any nicer.

He’s mean to you, the sensible part of her replied.

And I’m just as mean back, the other far more annoying part of her explained.

Your family would be furious, her reasonable self insisted.

So? Ginny told herself.

Malfoy, of all people, was standing in front of her telling her how much he disliked being thought of just as a Malfoy, instead of as just himself. She realized how much they had in common, how similar they were; well, she’d realized that after last night.

He’d wanted to see her again after the ball; and here he was now, even after she’d been so rude to him last night – not that he hadn’t deserved it. In some strange way he was noticing her as someone other than the youngest Weasley and he was trying to tell her that.

“I think I promised you dilled gravlax, didn’t I?” his voice brought Ginny out of her trance.

“Yes, you did.” She couldn’t help adding, “Because my menu was so good.”

“Yes, it was,” Draco – Malfoy – whatever his name was - admitted grudgingly. “But I can find you something even better to eat.”

“Oh really?” she said skeptically, wondering where this was leading.

“Let me show you,” he continued. “Next weekend’s a Hogsmead weekend – I’ll take you out to dinner.”

He was asking her out? Ginny didn’t know quite what to say.

“That would be a way to throw a broom in my brother’s face,” she mused aloud.

“I’m just trying to break away from the Malfoy mold,” he insisted, but Ginny knew an attempt at convincing one’s self of something when she saw it.

“Well, then,” she agreed with a smile. “It’s a date.”

~*~The End~*~

A/N: And that’s it. I know I could continue from there (and you never know, I might), but I really wanted to focus on the masquerade ball, not the aftermath so much. Thanks for all the reviews!