Draco Malfoy was not romantic. He certainly did not believe that there was such a thing as love at first sight, and the thought of attaining 'happily ever after' elicited nothing from him but a raised eyebrow. So when a woman who looked far too much like Umbridge for his likings told him in between bites of her blueberry muffin that she was his fairy godmother and had come to dress him for the ball where he would meet the prince of his dreams, Draco was justifiably revolted.

There were many things wrong with this scenario, but one in particular stood out to Draco.

"Why the hell would I want to go to a ball to meet a prince?" he demanded frankly.

"But aren't you Ginny Weasley?"

Draco blinked in astonishment, and then his expression swiftly transformed into haughty indignation. "I most certainly am not!"

"Oh, dear," the toad-like woman sighed with comical dismay. "I seem to have got the wrong girl."

"Wrong girl?" Draco exploded. "I'm a man!"

But the fairy godmother was not listening to him. She seemed to be having a small argument with herself. Draco wondered if she was all there in the head.

"I've got it!" the fairy godmother declared happily. She aimed her wand at him. "Bibbity bobbity boo!"

Draco blinked, and then he suddenly found himself wearing a shimmering white dress with what appeared to be glass slippers on his feet and a diamond tiara on his silvery-blond locks.

"Wha—"

But his exclamation of protest was cut off as the crazed old woman flicked her wand once more at him and he vanished with a small pop. When Draco's feet touched the ground again, he was standing in the doorway of a large ballroom. A man with dark hair and a smile that was as dazzling as it was cliché looked up at him from the centre of the glittering throng of people. Rapt adoration glowed in the man's blue eyes, and then he was rushing up the steps towards Draco.

"You," the raven-haired man breathed in ecstasy. "You are—" He stopped short, and a puzzled crease formed on his brow. "But . . . you are a man?"

"What were you expecting?" Draco snapped. "A beautiful princess?"

"Well, yes," the prince admitted. "Not that you aren't attractive. In fact, you're quite pretty for a male, but my contract does say that I'm only supposed to go with princesses. The 'Make Your Own Fairy Tale' business isn't as liberal as some places, I'm afraid."

"How unfortunate," the blond said dryly.

The prince smiled confidentially at Draco. "I'll tell you what; I get off duty after midnight. Perhaps you could meet me at my quarters. We could—" he trailed his fingers up Draco's bare arm "—get to know each other more."

Draco wasn't sure when the prince had got so close, but he did know that he did not like the suspiciously amorous look in the other man's eyes. There was no way that he, Draco Malfoy, was about to become anyone's princess.

"Excuse me," Draco said icily, extricating himself from the prince's clutches. "I believe I have a fairy godmother to go and kill."

"But you can't leave yet!" the prince exclaimed in surprise. "Someone has to be the belle of the ball."

Draco simply groaned and then picked up his skirts and fled from the ballroom, not even caring how undignified his retreat looked. He was wearing a sparkly dress and a diamond tiara, for Merlin's sake. Dignity was no longer part of the question.

He managed to escape the prince, but at a cost. One of his shoes had slipped off his foot in his haste, and he realised that the glass heels which had been so cumbersome to wear were even more of a nuisance when he had to hobble along on one. Curse that damn godmother. When he got his hands on her, he'd—

Draco let out a yelp as he stood on a sharp rock. He jumped up and down in pain, muttering expletives and a few things that were very uncomplimentary indeed about glass slippers, fairy godmothers, and randy princes in general.

"What's the matter, Cinderella?" an amused voice taunted from the shadows. "Lose your slipper?"

Draco's head shot up, and his eyes narrowed as he saw a familiar redhead walk out from the trees while dangling a glass heel on her finger.

"You!" he growled, straightening his back and glaring darkly at her. "This was all your idea, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I must say, Draco, you do make a very pretty princess. Have you thought of becoming a Drag Queen? You certainly have the dramatic flair for it."

"Oh, very funny, Ginevra," the blond snapped, his colour much heightened. "And don't give me that innocent rubbish. That damn toad told me you were the one who was supposed to be going to the ball, and even if I didn't already know it, I would have guessed that you were the culprit behind this mess. Only a poor girl like you would choose the 'rags to riches' fairy tale."

"It's true, the rags to riches stories always were my favourite," Ginny agreed serenely. "Did you enjoy meeting the prince of your dreams?"

"I was just thrilled. He even invited me to his quarters," Draco responded dryly. "Now would you mind telling me why you've decided to make me the star of your twisted fairy tale?"

Ginny smiled and stepped closer to him. "I would have thought that was obvious."

"Apparently not."

She laughed, and her brown eyes lit up with secret amusement. "Perhaps I simply wanted to teach you a lesson. Or—" and here she stepped even closer. "Perhaps I was curious."

"Curious about what?" he demanded, eyeing her suspiciously.

She knelt down at his feet and, much to his surprise, placed his bare foot in the glass slipper that she had been holding.

"A perfect fit," she murmured, smiling up at him.

He stared blankly at her for a moment, and then an expression of amusement, mixed with some very real exasperation, came to his face.

"I hope this isn't your way of declaring your love for me, Ginevra," he drawled, "because I must tell you that forcing me into the cross-dressing profession and setting me up with an over-friendly prince is not the way to win my heart."

"Ah, but you're forgetting one important thing."

"What's that?"

"This is a fairy tale."

"So?"

Ginny smiled wickedly. "So, my darling princess, fairy tales always end in happily ever after."

"No they don't," he said with a smirk.

"How do they end then?"

He leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips against hers.

"They end with a kiss."