PART ONE: COMFORT & JOY


Ginny never thought she would wish to spend Christmas alone, but that was all she wanted this year. Unfortunately, she had no place to be alone in.

“You don’t actually want to be alone on Christmas, do you?” Parkinson asked, as she paused to examine her reflection in a shop window. “No one wants to be alone on Christmas. Not even me. I mean, yes, my mum and all my aunts will drive me crazy, blathering on about why I’m still single and what I mean to do with my life, but still—it’s better than being alone in my flat.”

“I can’t even be alone in my flat,” Ginny said glumly. “Since I have to be out of it by Tuesday.” Ginny sighed, looking out down Diagon Alley. The street was buzzing with people going about their Christmas shopping, just as she and Pansy were.

“But what about Looney Lovegood?” Pansy said, stepping back from the window, apparently satisfied that her dark red lipstick was perfect. “Aren’t you staying with her when you move out on Tuesday?”

“Her name is Luna, not Looney.” Ginny paused outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, eyeing the new Nimbus 2010. It was the latest broom model; it had just come out last month, and was said to rival the Firebolt for speed and precision. The well-polished handle gleamed like gold through the shop window, and Ginny gazed at it longingly. She intended to go out for the Harpies in the spring, and a new broom would help her feel a lot better about her chances—especially a quality broom like the Nimbus 2010. She was still riding her Cleansweep Seven, another hand-me-down from one of her brothers.

Ginny blinked when Pansy waved a hand in front of her face, snapping two long, black-lacquered fingers. “Earth to Weasley? So why can’t you just stay with Lovegood on Christmas Eve?”

“I’m just staying with her for those few days, after I move out.” With one last, wistful glance for the Nimbus, Ginny shoved her hands into the pockets of her gray pea coat and moved on, trailing down the street. She kicked at a small patch of sludgy snow on the curb. “She’s leaving to go on holiday Christmas Eve, and she’s subletting her place for the week. I can’t stay there.”

“Look, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Pany said, turning off the main street, “but your family can’t be that bad. I mean, Christmas with my parents is no picnic, either—”

“You know very well that my family is not the problem,” Ginny said crossly. “It’s—” She stuttered to a halt. “Where are we going?”

Parkinson glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow. She’d just turned left to start down Knockturn Alley. “I just need to make a quick stop.”

“Down here?” Ginny peered down the narrow alley dubiously. “What are you going to get?”

Parkinson sighed. “A Christmas present for my mum.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Weasley. Just a quick stop, and then we can have lunch somewhere. My treat.”

Only the promise of a paid-for lunch persuaded Ginny to follow Parkinson down Knockturn Alley. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the place—Ginny was more than sure that she could take care of herself. But the last thing she needed was for someone to see her and go telling tales to her family about where she’d been.

Ginny had never been down Knockturn Alley, and she was somewhat distastefully curious about the shops and strange people they passed. There was a place advertising poisonous candles, a window lined with shrunken heads and skulls, and one shop with large jars filled with giant spiders. They passed Borgin & Burkes, the shop Ginny had heard about from Harry.

Harry. Ginny scowled as they passed the dodgy shop. She had gone nearly the whole past half hour without thinking about him. And without dwelling on the guilt and disappointment that accompanied every thought of him.

Parkinson glanced over her shoulder at her, noted her dark expression, and seemed to read her mind. “Why don’t you just tell your mum you don’t want him there?” she said, sounding half-exasperated, half-sympathetic. Which was downright unnerving; sympathy from Pansy Parkinson was like timidity from a hippogriff—unnatural. “Surely she would understand.”

“Surely she would not,” Ginny said vehemently. Harry had spent practically every Christmas with them since he was fifteen, and he didn’t really have anywhere else to go, either. Truthfully, Ginny would not have wanted to force him out of the Burrow on Christmas, no matter how badly things had ended between them. She was not that cruel. Still, it would have been nice to get some understanding from her family, instead of feeling like they all thought the break-up was her fault.

Which it sort of was.

“Harry is like a son to my mother,” Ginny said darkly. She shot a glare at a seedy-looking wizard who was leering at them as they passed, and he turned away. “And on top of that, I’m pretty sure she’s…disappointed in me. For not making things work with him.”

“Well, that’s rubbish,” Parkinson said. “I suppose it will be pretty awful for you.” She stopped suddenly, turning to face Ginny. “But you can’t really want to be alone on Christmas, Weasley.” She sighed, tossing her head, her perfectly combed, dark bob of hair bouncing. “I mean, I know some people who have to spend Christmas alone, and who would give anything not to.” She paused. “And some people who don’t have to spend it alone, but behaved like great prats and are now regretting their childish behavior because they are going to be alone.”

“What?” Ginny blinked, confused.

“Never mind.” Parkinson jerked her head to the right. “Are you coming in?”

Ginny glanced aside, puzzled. They had stopped beside what Ginny thought was a bare wall, but she realized now that there was a tiny shop crammed in between two larger shops here. She peered through the grimy window into the shop inside. All she could see were various vials and jars lining a few shelves, unlabeled and filled with murky substances. “I’ll wait out here, thanks.”

Parkinson looked a bit dubious at this response. “Are you sure? Look, I know you’re a nutty brave hero and all, but a young woman standing out by herself on Knockturn Alley isn’t really—”

“Parkinson!” Ginny cut in, exasperated. “I’ll be fine. You said you would be quick, didn’t you? Anyway, that place looks quite cramped. The two of us would barely fit in there, with the shopkeeper and all your bags. And you forget,” she added, “I’m a Weasley.”

“I could hardly forget that,” Pansy said dryly. “That pea coat has certainly seen better days, and your awful hair is like a tomato—”

“Exactly my point,” Ginny said through gritted teeth. “The hair makes me rather unmistakable. And seeing as this shop is obviously selling illegal potions and substances, the shop owner wouldn’t be too keen to have me in there, don’t you think? I do have a father and two brothers in the Ministry, and my father is directly involved in rooting out dark artifacts—”

“Ah, right,” Parkinson conceded. “Well, I’ll be just a minute. I’m sure you’ll be all right.” And without any more concern, Parkinson disappeared into the shop.

Ginny blew out another long sigh, watching her breath mist the air in front of her face. She yanked her snug beanie down over her ears and leaned back against the shop wall, crossing her arms over her chest. Her stomach rumbled and she scowled, hoping Parkinson would hurry up.

“Aren’t you a pretty one? Fancy a pretty gem, pretty lady?”

Ginny looked around sharply. The seedy man she’d glared at earlier had come up beside her. He was dressed in a dark, oversized coat in far worse a state than Ginny’s coat was, and his lined face was unshaven. In his gloved hands he held an array of necklaces sitting in a shoddy piece of cloth.

“What do you say?” the man prodded her. He smiled an eerie smile, and Ginny saw several of his teeth were missing. “A little Christmas present for yourself? Special price,” he added. He took a step towards Ginny, practically trapping her against the wall. “Maybe this one?” he said, picking out a necklace seemingly at random. He held it up close to Ginny’s face. The large red gem hanging from the end of the gold pendant swung inches from her nose.

Ginny was abruptly and chillingly reminded of the cursed necklace Katie Bell had mistakenly received fifth year, the one that had put her in a coma for six months—with a single touch. A necklace that had been purchased here, in Knockturn Alley. This man was probably just trying to make some money by selling these knock-offs, but now that a more sinister possibility had occurred to her, Ginny couldn’t shake it. She mustered her fiercest scowl and stood her ground. “No,” she said firmly. “Now back off, or I’ll hex you into next year.”

The man dropped his dodgy smile. But he did not back away, nor did he drop the necklace, still swinging inches from Ginny’s face. “Sure you don’t want one?” he asked, and this time, there was a dangerous note underlying his words.

Ginny refused to be intimidated. “I said, back off.” She turned her head away from the necklace and gave the man a hard shove at the same time. He stumbled back off the curb, a few of the necklaces falling from his hands to the ground.

“Oi!” he cried indignantly. Ginny didn’t wait to hear anymore. She turned and took two steps down the street, heading for the door to the tiny little potions shop Pansy had gone into.

“Hey!” Suddenly, the man grabbed her from behind, his fingers closing around her upper arm in a rough grip. “Where do you think you’re going? Weasley?”

Any surprise Ginny might have felt when the man said her name was lost in her instinctive response. She didn’t even bother going for her wand, tucked away inside her coat. Instead, she wrenched free of the man’s grip and brought her arm up sharply. Her elbow smashed into the man’s jaw with a satisfying thud.

Then three things happened simultaneously. The man let out a pained yelp and swore viciously. Ginny turned to see the damage she’d done. And someone nearby said, “There you are, Bessie!”

Ginny blinked and glanced around, confused. She stared dumbly as Draco Malfoy, of all people, hurriedly crossed the street towards her. To her surprise—and dismay—he joined her, taking her arm in his and beaming down at her with a smiling expression that she found downright disturbing on Malfoy’s face.

“I was looking everywhere for you,” he said with false pleasantry.

“Bessie?” Ginny hissed under her breath.

“Oi!” The leering man spit into his hand. Ginny turned back to him, startled; she’d practically forgotten he was there. A dab of blood stained his mouth where Ginny had broken the skin of his lip. “You hit me, you bloody bint! You’ll pay for that one, I—” As the man reached into his coat, likely for his wand, he looked up. When he saw Malfoy, his face went pale and his eyes as round as hen’s eggs.

Malfoy said coolly, “What did you call my friend Bessie?”

Ginny ground her teeth at the name and moved her foot around inconspicuously. Then she deliberately stepped on Malfoy’s foot. She felt him wince, but his expression remained the same as he stared down the man.

“Malfoy,” the man spluttered. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed dangerously and the man hastily amended, “I mean, Mr. Malfoy—I didn’t—she—your friend?” His gaze swung from Malfoy to Ginny, and his uncertain expression hardened into a glare. “But—she’s a Weasley!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Malfoy snapped. “Not every person with red hair is a Weasley!”

“No—well—of course not—but I thought—”

“Let me put it this way,” Malfoy said. His voice was dangerously low. “Would I be in the company of a Weasley?”

“Well, no—of course not—” Now the man just looked confused. He looked between the two of them again, and his indignant expression returned. “But—she hit me! And I just asked if she’d like a necklace—”

“Well, if it’s just a necklace,” Malfoy said smoothly, reaching down for one of the necklaces that had fallen to the ground, “then maybe I’ll buy one for her.”

“No!” The man scrambled to snatch all the necklaces off the ground before Malfoy could touched them. “It’s just—you wouldn’t be wanting any of these,” he spluttered. “Not you, Mr. Malfoy. These are cheap pieces, not worth much—” He straightened, but not all the way, keeping to a crouched position, a sort of half-bow. “Need to be going now—Mr. Malfoy—”

He turned and fled.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Ginny said, “Bessie?” She stomped towards Malfoy. “What am I, a cow?”

“You said it,” Malfoy said, smirking, “not me.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Malfoy?” Ginny snapped. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Saving you, apparently,” he shot back. He muttered something under his breath, too softly for Ginny to hear, but she thought it sounded like, Again.

“Saving me?” Ginny scoffed. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little? I had it handled, Malfoy.”

“Oh, really?” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course you did. Never mind that man was about to hex you—”

“I would’ve hexed him first!”

“—but those necklaces he was trying to sell to you were probably cursed,” he finished. “That man’s known for selling cursed objects, and seeing as he knew you were a Weasley, it was probably his intention all along.”

“What nice friends you have, Malfoy,” Ginny said sarcastically.

Malfoy scowled. “We’re not friends. I just know who he is, is all.” His gray eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. Ginny hated that he could look down at her at all. She wasn’t terribly short, and could look most men in the eye. She could look Harry in the eye. But Malfoy was tall, nearly a good head taller than her.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he snapped. “Down Knockturn Alley? Lost, are you?”

“No.” Ginny returned his glare with one of her own. “What are you doing here?”

“Christmas shopping,” Malfoy said dismissively. “I mean it, Weasley. What are you doing here?”

“You know, I didn’t ask you to save me!” Ginny flared, ignoring his question. Ever since Malfoy had crossed the street towards her, her ire had begun to rise. The very sight of him brought on a confused rush of feelings—frustration, gratitude, anger, and—worse of all—a terrible doubt. The doubt that she didn’t know this person at all, this person she had loathed for five years, from the day she met him in Flourish and Blott’s until—

Until. Until sixth year. When he’d made the very strange habit of saving her.

Malfoy looked stunned, and… maybe even a little hurt? But only for a moment, and then a trademark sneer came over his face. “And I never wanted to save you,” he snapped, “but you don’t know how to stay out of trouble, do you, Weasley?”

“You—” Ginny began angrily, but she never got to finish that particular remark. For just then, Parkinson finally emerged from the little potions shop, and when she saw Ginny and Malfoy, a huge, devious smile crept over her face.

“Well!” she exclaimed, coming up behind Draco. He looked around in surprise, but before he, or Ginny, could say anything, Parkinson slung an arm around Draco’s waist and the other around Ginny’s shoulders, bringing them both in on either side of her. Malfoy looked as indignant and dismayed as Ginny felt.

“If it isn’t my two favorite people, here together!” Pansy’s impish grin widened. Her grip around Ginny tightened as she brought the two of them in even closer. For a moment, Ginny’s nose was nearly squashed right into Malfoy’s chest. But then Malfoy wriggled away, stumbling a little as he broke free from Pansy.

“Weasley is one of your two favorite people?” he muttered incredulously. “I thought you were just gym pals, or something stupid like that.”

“Running pals,” Ginny and Pansy corrected him simultaneously. It was true. That was how Ginny had become friends—of a sort—with Parkinson to begin with. When she’d moved into a flat only a street down from Parkinson, the two had discovered, one early Saturday morning, that they shared the same route, a nice path through the nearby park. Parkinson had insisted that Ginny find someplace else to run, and Ginny had balked at that. Before the two of them knew it, they were racing—and by the end of the race, laughing themselves silly about it, as Parkinson had pulled a muscle and Ginny was ready to hurl. Now they ran together most mornings, and sometimes had breakfast together afterwards. It was only in the past month that Pansy had begun to invite Ginny to do other things, like today’s shopping, with her.

“Whatever,” Malfoy said with a scowl. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black coat. For some reason, he’d lost his aggressive air as soon as Pansy joined them. That in itself wasn’t strange, Ginny thought, seeing as he and Pansy were friends. But he seemed almost uncomfortable now, being here with the both of them.

“Did you get what you needed?” Ginny asked dryly. “And what was it, anyway?”

“Oh,” Pansy said happily. She patted the pocket of her cape coat, which was bulging a little now. “Just a little pick-me up.”

“Pick-me up?” Draco asked suspiciously. His eyes alighted on her pocket, and then he glanced at the potions shop over his shoulder. “Oh,” he said with understanding. “Pixie dust?”

“Pixie dust?” Ginny echoed in confusion.

Malfoy looked at her, his gray eyes amused. “It’s not actually pixie dust, Weasley,” he said in an overly conspiratorial whisper.

“I’m not stupid, Malfoy,” she shot back.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he coughed.

“Look at you two,” Parkinson said. She was practically beaming, and the warm smile looked as out of place on her face as it had on Malfoy’s, when he’d pretended to be friends with Ginny just a moment ago. “Getting along. Which is perfect, because I’ve just had an idea.”

“What idea?” Ginny asked warily.

Parkinson’s dark eyes widened innocently. “Well,” she said, “you, Ginny, were looking for some place away to spend Christmas. Away from your family, I mean. And it just so happens that Draco here is going to be all alone at his place for Christmas.” She turned a flat gaze on Malfoy. “Because he’s a git.”

“I am not—” Malfoy began hotly, but then he stopped, looking confused. “Wait. You’re not actually suggesting—”

“You think I should spend Christmas with Malfoy?” Ginny demanded in disbelief. “Are you mental?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Malfoy said in a strangled voice.

“Oh, come on!” Parkinson actually stomped her foot, the pointed heel of her stiletto boot clacking against the street. “Draco, you were only just whinging to me the other day about how you were going to be all alone on Christmas—even though it’s all your own fault—”

“I wasn’t whinging,” Malfoy protested. His pale cheeks had gone pink. Ginny had to admit that she rather enjoyed seeing him so flustered.

“—and you, Weasley, have been moping all day about your break-up with Potter, and how you were going to have to spend Christmas with him at your hovel—”

“The Burrow is not a hovel,” Ginny snapped. She crossed her arms across her chest, scowling. “And I haven’t been moping about Harry!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “I suppose you haven’t been, since you broke up with him. But you have been moping about having to spend Christmas with him.”

Draco had gone very still. Only his eyes moved, switching between Pansy and Ginny, his gaze like that of a hawk. “You broke up with Potter?” he said slowly.

Ginny shrugged uncomfortably. “Yes. So?” She found the intensity of his stare rather unsettling. “Did you want to gloat? Oh, go ahead then, you prat. Get it out of the way.”

Malfoy sneered and opened his mouth, probably to do just that, but before he could get a word out, Pansy interrupted. “Oh, enough of that, you two. If you can’t be civil to each other, then there’s no point in you spending Christmas together.”

“There’s no point in us spending Christmas together,” Malfoy said in exasperation, “because we don’t want to! All right, Pansy? Leave it alone already!”

“So you’d rather spend Christmas alone,” Pansy said crossly, “than with Ginny?”

“I’ve said so, haven’t I?” Malfoy glared at her, and then at Ginny, as though for good measure. “Look, I don’t care about spending Christmas alone. I’m perfectly fine being alone! And now I’m running late, thanks to you,” he shot accusingly at Ginny, “so good riddance to the both of you.”

He Apparated on the spot, vanishing with a pop!

“Well!” Pansy huffed. “That was even ruder than usual for Draco. What did you say to him?”

“Me!” Ginny protested. “Nothing! I was just here minding my own business when he turned up, calling me Bessie, of all things—”

“What?” Pansy looked confused, and rightly so, Ginny supposed, since she was leaving out huge holes from her story.

“Nothing,” Ginny muttered. She sighed, rubbing her temples, wishing she could just forget that she’d ever run into Malfoy to begin with. That niggling sense of doubt wouldn’t go away now. She felt a little unsteady. When Pansy had hugged the two of them and brought Ginny’s face within an inch of Malfoy, she’d caught the brief, heavenly scent of him, of his coat and his cologne and of—well—him. That scent immediately transported her back in time, nearly two years ago, during her sixth year at Hogwarts—the hellish year, as she liked to call it. The year Voldemort had been in charge.

Ginny breathed in deeply now and shut her eyes, remembering. Remembering the last time she’d been so close to Malfoy that she’d breathed in that scent. She remembered hiding behind a tapestry, enclosed in the dark, the cold stone wall at her back and Malfoy pressed against her front, one hand over her mouth and the other clutching her shoulder. He’d been so close, then, that when she’d closed her eyes and prayed they would not be found, her lashes had brushed against his shirt—

“Weasley?”

Ginny’s eyes flew open. “What?” she said, startled.

“Are you all right?” Pansy frowned at her. “You looked—I don’t know. Are you feeling all right?”

“Fine.” Ginny heaved a long breath. “Look, can we go? Only I seem to remember you promising me a lunch.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You are such a peasant, Weasley,” she said, turning and flouncing down the block, her shopping bags bouncing in her hands. Ginny followed after her, distracted. Thinking about Malfoy.


* * *


Ginny barely managed two quick knocks on the door, her arms were so laden with Christmas presents. She shifted uncomfortably in the cold, wishing someone would come let her in quickly. As the package on top of the pile in her arms began to slip off, Ginny swore, trying to reach around for it. Just then, of course, the door swung open.

“Now, now,” a familiar voice said. “Language, Ginny.”

“Just help me, you prat,” Ginny snapped. She couldn’t actually see George around the mountain of presents, but she recognized his voice.

“Sure thing.” Vaguely, she saw him reach down to pick up the fallen present, and then he took three more from her arms, before stepping back into the house. Ginny followed him with a sigh of relief, quickly setting down the other two presents in her arms, leaving only the two large bags she carried in either hand.

It was Christmas Eve, and in spite of all her moping, as Parkinson had put it, Ginny was here, at the Burrow. She’d moved out of her flat three days ago, as she’d agreed, and left Luna’s early this morning, just as the subletter was turning up. She had nowhere else to go now.

Well. There was one place. But she was not going there. She didn’t think she was really invited, anyway.

As Ginny carefully dropped the two gift bags, everyone else came to greet her. She heard cries of “Ginny!” and one small cry of “Aunt Ginny!” from Victoire. Ginny looked up and found most of the family—and a few others—crowding into the foyer. Bill and Fleur, with Victoire in her arms, Hermione, Percy and his girlfriend Audrey, her mum, Angelina Johnson, whom George was dating, Ron and—

Ginny’s stomach sank. And there he was. Harry. At the very back of the crowd, only just coming in to join everyone else. He appeared to be in discussion with Ginny’s father about something, and hadn’t seen her yet, though he had to know she was there, as everyone else had shouted her name.

Ginny suddenly felt sick. Her palms felt sweaty, even though her fingers were numb with cold, and she felt dazed, almost dizzy. Then Harry looked up finally, and his eyes met hers.

The hurt in his gaze was too much.

“Erm—” Ginny looked away, breaking eye contact with Harry. She surveyed the crowd of people before her, all of whom eyed her expectantly, with broad smiles on their faces. “Actually, I—have to go.”

“What?” Ron said, looking dumbfounded.

“But you just got ’ere!” Fleur protested.

Hermione looked at her knowingly.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Ginny said hastily. She cast her mind around for an excuse. “I, er, wanted to bring everyone’s presents by—”

“But, Ginny, you can’t go! It’s Christmas Eve!” her mother exclaimed. Her face was creased with disappointment, and Ginny ignored the twinge of guilt that cropped up inside her. “We’re all going to have dinner, and listen to Celestina Warbeck’s radio program—”

“Maybe I’ll skip out too,” George muttered under his breath.

“I know, Mum, I’m sorry,” Ginny said in a rush. “But, erm, I’ve—I’ve been invited to spend Christmas somewhere else. And I would’ve turned him down—”

“Him?” Ron said sharply. “Him? Him who?”

“A friend,” Ginny said, glaring at Ron. “And I would have turned him down, but if I don’t go, he’ll be spending Christmas alone.”

“Well,” Molly Weasley said. She frowned, looking at Ginny with concern, but then she seemed to force a smile. “Well, in that case, of course you should go, Ginny dear. Though we’ll all miss having you here. But you will be here for lunch tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Erm—I hope so,” Ginny said vaguely. “I’ll—I’ll try.” Before anyone else could protest, she said, “Well, I should be off, then. I’m running late.”

She turned and twisted the door knob. As she stepped out into the cold and the darkness, she heard Ron call after her, “Hang on! Him who?”

Ginny ignored him, shutting the door behind her. Then she turned on the spot, Apparating away.

She hadn’t actually meant to go to Malfoy’s. Still, she had nowhere else to go, and she wanted to Apparate and leave before anyone could stop her.

And with Malfoy Manor on her mind, that was where she’d ended up.

She stood outside the black iron-wrought gates, uncertain and a little annoyed with herself for coming here. She really didn’t want to spend Christmas with Malfoy; it was little better than spending Christmas with Harry. But she had nowhere else to go, except back to the Burrow—and…

And. Ginny bit her lip. And she hadn’t yet been able to get rid of that niggling doubt. It had taken her months to get rid of it at the end of sixth year, and now, after seeing Malfoy again, after he’d saved her again, it proved just as persistent. As though she needed to understand why he had helped her. Why he helped her, every single time.

She blew out a long breath. This was ridiculous. Who cared why Malfoy had helped her? It didn’t negate every other terrible thing he’d ever done, and he was still an evil git who despised her and her family. That she was even entertaining the idea of spending Christmas with him was laughable. She turned to go, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat.

A sharp pain stabbed at her fingers. Ginny inhaled sharply and immediately drew her hands out of her pockets, holding them up to squint at them in the darkness.

Apparently, her lack of commitment to coming to Malfoy Manor had manifested itself in a mild case of Splinching. For on both of her hands, every single finger was missing its fingernail.

Ginny whimpered, staring at the raw, shriveled skin where her nails should have been. Before she could stop herself, she opened her mouth and shrieked at the gate,

“Malfoy! Let me in!”


* * *


When Draco got to the entrance hall to let in Ginny Weasley, he was all set up to tell her to go away. He had not invited her, whatever crazy notion Pansy had come up with, and he did not care if she was trying to avoid Potter. (Well. He didn’t really care about that, anyway, as he reminded himself again and again). He was not in the mood for any visitors. His dinner was burning in the kitchen, the drawing room was a mess, and he was fairly certain he was getting a cold.

But when he opened the door, before he could get a single word out, a distraught, wild-eyed Ginny Weasley held up both her hands before him and wailed, “I Splinched myself!”

Draco stared at her dumbly. His head felt as though it were stuffed full of wool. He had to blink several times before he processed this statement, and realized what he was looking at. She had Splinched herself, and now she was missing every single nail from every single finger. Draco looked at her flatly. “Really, Weasley?” He sniffled, stifling a sneeze.

Weasley glared at him. “Malfoy, will you please just let me in and help me?”

Draco leaned on the doorframe a little. “But I thought you didn’t want my help, Weasley,” he said snidely. “And I don’t know what you’re doing here, anyway. I didn’t invite you.”

“And I didn’t want to come here!” she snapped. “Why do you think I Splinched myself, you stupid prat! But—but I did come here, and now…” She gestured helplessly with her nail-less hands. “Malfoy, please just let me in! Just for a few minutes?”

He noted, then, that she seemed to be fighting tears, a faint, telltale glistening in her dark eyes the giveaway hint. Draco was suddenly torn between annoyance and the horrible urge to open his door wide for her. It wasn’t natural, this penchant he had for coming to her aide; he wasn’t some bloody stupid Gryffindor, going around saving people all the time.

But he could not help what he felt, when he saw her in trouble.

“Oh, fine,” Draco grumbled. “Come in, then.”

He’d barely opened the door an inch wider when she pushed past him, coming into the entrance hall. For a moment, he was overtaken by the scent of her hair, some kind of floral scent. Then he blinked and closed the door, before turning to face her. “There is a fairly simple charm to grow your nails, you know,” he said dryly.

“I know,” Weasley said, a defensive note to her voice. “But I—well, I panicked, and I—” She sighed with exasperation. “And I’m just not very good at that charm, all right? I always overdo it.”

Draco smirked. “You overdo a lot of things, I’ve noticed.” Before Weasley could come up with a response, he said, “We should apply some dittany first anyway, to stop the bleeding.” He’d half-turned to call for his butler when he remembered, with some irritation, that the butler wasn’t there. No one was. “Hang on,” he said, sighing. “I’ll be right back.”

He left too quickly for Ginny to say anything, but when he finally returned with the dittany and some bandages several minutes later, he found her frowning, looking around the entrance hall. “Malfoy,” she said, “don’t you have servants?” For a ridiculously poor person who most certainly did not have servants, Draco found her tone annoyingly condescending.

“Of course,” Draco said sharply. He jerked his head, indicating she should follow him into the drawing room. The lighting in the entrance hall was too dim to see properly. “But I sent them all home.” He could not suppress the resigned note in his voice. That had been one mistake of many, in the past couple of weeks.

“Erm—why?” Weasley asked, as Draco lit the lights in the drawing room with his wand.

“Because it’s Christmas, Weasley!” he snapped. “Why do you think?”

“Oh,” was all she said. She did not know, of course, that usually at least one or two of the servants would stay through Christmas. Someone had to make Christmas dinner, someone had to set up all the decorations and keep the house clean.

Unfortunately, this year, that someone was Draco. Which was more than evident by the state of the drawing room. Draco felt his cheeks growing warm as Weasley looked around the room, her eyes narrowed but curious. The usually immaculate room was quite a mess. A large evergreen tree took up a space by the fireplace, but it was still bare, even now, on Christmas Eve. Several boxes of ornaments were littered around the tree, half-open, and another couple of boxes with other decorations.

“Will you sit down already?” Draco snapped, trying to draw Weasley’s attention from the mess. He pointed demandingly at a chair at the drawing table. Once she was seated, he took the chair beside her and held his hand out impatiently for hers. She didn’t flinch or make a sound as he carefully dropped dittany onto each bleeding finger, even though it usually stung. Draco lost himself in the quiet of the next several minutes, bending his head over her hands as he wrapped small bandages around each finger.

“You should keep the bandages on for a few minutes at least,” he said, as he finished with the last one, “before we grow them back. I don’t—” He broke off as he glanced up, startled. Ginny’s head was bent close over her hands too, and when he lifted his head, he found his face mere inches from hers. A tiny intake of breath on her lips was the only sign that she was startled, too. Draco found his gaze lingering on those full, pink lips. He was suddenly aware of the warmth and softness of her small hand in his.

Then she drew back sharply, and Draco dropped her hand in the next instant. “Thank you,” Ginny said. She looked a bit pink in the warm glow of the lamp light, her freckles more apparent than ever. “Erm—I should go. I can manage the charm myself—”

“You already said you can’t,” Draco said crossly. “Just stay a few more minutes and—” He broke off, a horrible reminder dawning on him. “A few more minutes! Fuck!” He dashed out of the drawing room, ignoring Weasley’s confused call after him.

When he made it to the kitchen, it was too late. A steady stream of dark gray smoke issued forth from the oven, and when he yanked it open, more smoke billowed out, right into his face. Draco drew back, coughing and gasping. The smoke stung his eyes, and only made the steady ache growing in his temples worse.

“I think,” a voice said from the doorway, “that you’ve burnt your turkey.”

Draco spun around and glared at Ginny through the haze of smoke. “What a brilliant deduction, Weasley. I’m so glad you were here to tell me. Otherwise, I might never have figured out why my oven was smoking!” He meant to say more, but he started coughing again, and this time, he couldn’t stop.

“Oh, move over, Malfoy.” Weasley pushed him out of the way, and he was too wracked with spasms to stop her. She drew her wand out from her coat pocket and quickly Vanished most of the smoke. Then she took the oven mitts he’d left on the counter, pulled them on over her bandaged fingers, and carefully removed the turkey from the oven. Ginny shut the oven door, removed the mitts, and stepped back, surveying the turkey. Its outside skin was entirely black. Draco finally managed to get control of himself and stopped coughing, inhaling deeply. A moment of silence followed, as they both looked on at the ruined turkey.

“Well,” Ginny finally said, breaking the silence, “it was nice of you to send your staff home, but you probably should have kept your cook on.”

“No, really?” Draco snapped. His nose suddenly began to itch again, and this time, he could not suppress a sneeze. He was beginning to feel as though he could not breathe, and his head felt heavier than ever, like lead.

Ginny turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Draco shot back. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose. He was not sick. He refused to be sick on Christmas. Bad enough that his turkey was burnt, bad enough that he hadn’t gotten any decorations up yet, bad enough that his mother had left him, and now he was alone—

Draco felt a terrible twinge of loneliness, loneliness he had desperately been trying to suppress. He felt suddenly hollow, and tired, so very tired. He leaned back against the wall, shutting his eyes. He waited for Weasley to make another annoying comment, but she didn’t. When Draco opened his eyes a moment later, it was to find her standing only a foot from him, her arms crossed, her head cocked to one side as she looked at him. She looked a little confused, as though he were a puzzle she wanted to solve.

“Why did you come here, anyway?” Draco asked abruptly. “If you weren’t going to, then why did you?”

Ginny looked startled. She opened her mouth, but then shut it a moment later. Draco wasn’t sure if she didn’t know what to say, or if she did know but didn’t want to say it. Then she sighed. “I didn’t want to face Harry,” she said grumpily.

Draco raised an eyebrow. A familiar sense of jealousy and resentment warred with a surge of hope within him. A stupid hope. “Ah, right,” he said. He struggled to keep his voice even. “You dumped Potter.”

“I didn’t dump him,” Weasley snapped. “Look, if you’re going to make some snide comment about it, just get it over with, Malfoy. I’m really not in the mood. In fact, instead of discussing Harry, why don’t you tell me why it is you’re spending Christmas alone? Parkinson mentioned something about you being a git, as I recall.”

Something inside of Draco snapped. “Yes, I was a git, all right? My mum wanted to go on holiday over Christmas and I didn’t want to and I threw a big fit about it so she went without me! And I sent all the servants home because I didn’t want to be alone with them on Christmas, only now I actually am alone and my turkey is burnt and my Christmas tree is bare and I’m—I—ah—” He broke off and turned his head just as he sneezed again.

“And you’re sick,” Ginny supplied helpfully.

“I am not sick!” Draco protested, though his congested voice said otherwise. He pulled his handkerchief out again and blew his nose. “Not on Christmas!”

He closed his eyes again, and this time, when he leaned back against the wall, he slid down it, until he was sitting on the kitchen floor. He felt like a fool, but he was too tired to stand. Merlin, had he actually just blurted all that out? To Weasley, of all people? What was wrong with him? It was his damn head, pounding away. He couldn’t think straight. He moaned a little, rubbing his eyes.

“Malfoy.”

Malfoy blinked his eyes open, startled by the closeness of Ginny’s voice. She crouched down before him, looking him in the eye. So close. He was abruptly reminded of another time he’d looked her in the eye like this, another time when she’d seen him with his guard down. She had been in a similar state at the time, frightened and tearful and gasping, so it hadn’t been so bad then.

Draco looked her in the eye now, and it all came rushing back at him. All the feelings he’d been burying for the past year and a half, ever since the war had ended and Ginny had gone off to live her happily ever after with Potter. She didn’t know it, but she had been his refuge, once. A single bright spot in two years of darkness and terror. There was a time when his rare, brief moments with Ginny Weasley were the only moments when he did not feel so lost.

When he did not feel so alone.

He suddenly realized she had said something. “What?” he asked thickly.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and get into bed?” she repeated. “I can see myself out.”

“No!” Draco swallowed. Ginny looked surprised and puzzled by his response, and he evaded her gaze. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I am not just going up to bed, with my tree still bare and my dinner burnt—”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Malfoy.” Ginny sighed in exasperation. “Look, I know you don’t want to be sick on Christmas—”

“I don’t want to miss Christmas.” He sounded petulant and childish; he knew he did. But this was the whole reason why he had stayed at the manor to begin with. To have Christmas, like they always used to, here at home.

Ginny rolled her eyes, but she paused, as though thinking it over. Then she said, “Well, why don’t you go change clothes at least. Your clothes are all smoky. I’ll see what I can salvage from the turkey, meanwhile. All right?”

Draco was not entirely sure why, but he did as she said. Perhaps he was just too tired and too ill to argue. He supposed he should change, anyway. As he trudged up the stairs, he ran a hand through his hair, and it came back dirty with smoke. He would take a shower too, he decided.

The hot water of his shower helped clear his mind a little. What on earth was he doing with Weasley, anyway? He hadn’t invited her. How stupid was she, getting herself Splinched and losing all her fingernails?

He would send her packing, Draco decided, as he toweled off. He found a Pepper-up Potion in his cabinet and took it quickly, before changing into clean trousers and a clean black sweater. He was feeling a little bit better as he headed to the drawing room—better, but also more tired. Well, no matter. He would tell Weasley to get out, and then he could go back to having his own Christmas. By himself. He pushed open the door to the drawing room. “Weasley,” he said, “you have to—”

He broke off, forgetting entirely what he was going to say. He blinked in the glow of sparkling lights and gaped at the room before him.

The tree was no longer bare. It was a real Christmas tree now, strung with colorful lights and ornaments in red, gold, silver, and green. There was even a star on top, big and gold and glittery. What was more, garland and holly had been hung along the mantelpiece beside the fire, and draped along the coffee table and the card table.

“I have to what, Malfoy?”

Draco looked around. He had been so taken aback by the decorated room that he had not even noticed Weasley. She was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire, looking quite comfortable. Her coat hung over the back of the chair, her handbag on the floor beside her. Draco crossed the room and stopped in front of her.

“I was going to go,” she said, before he could say anything, “but you haven’t grown my nails back yet.”

“Oh.” Draco had nearly forgotten all about that. “Right.” She had already removed the bandages. He took his wand out and carefully grew back each nail. When he was done, Ginny held her hands up and looked at them critically.

“They’re a little long,” she noted, “but I can clip them down. Thanks, Malfoy.”

Draco said, “You don’t have to go.”

Ginny blinked, dropping her hands. “What?”

He didn’t know why he’d said it, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and he couldn’t take them back. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He looked at her, with the Christmas tree she’d decorated a backdrop behind her. He couldn’t name the feeling inside of him, but it was familiar. Choking up his throat, churning in his stomach. It was like seventh year all over again.

“You could stay.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, if you want to. You did come here, after all. To avoid Potter. And I’m not rubbing it in or gloating or—or anything,” he added hastily, when her eyes narrowed. “I’m just saying—you can stay. If you want.”

Ginny stared at him. He could not fathom the look in her brown eyes as she considered his words. All he knew was it felt like an eternity before she finally said, “All right.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in both armchairs by the fire in the drawing room, plates of turkey and parsnips on their laps. “The turkey is dry,” Draco complained.

“That’s what happens when you burn it,” Ginny said flatly. “Just be grateful I managed to scrape off the black bits.”

Draco stifled a rather ungrateful reply and stuffed another forkful of turkey into his mouth.

They ate in silence, which was all right since they were eating, but once they were both done, the silence became a little awkward. Weasley sat cross-legged in her armchair, looking like an urchin in her oversized red sweater. “So,” she said, breaking the interminable silence, “what else do you usually do on Christmas Eve?”

Draco set his plate aside. “Well,” he said slowly. He felt a little odd about sharing this with her, the Christmases he usually spent with his parents. But he was the one that told her to stay, so he forced himself not to shut her out now. “Usually we all open one present. Just one, and the rest we do Christmas morning.”

He felt stupid as soon as he said it. He didn’t have a present for Weasley, and she obviously didn’t have one for him, either. But Weasley looked thoughtful, mulling this idea over. Suddenly, she brightened, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Well, good then,” she said pleasantly. “Because I have a present for you.”

Draco eyed her suspiciously. “You do?” He watched through narrowed eyes as she lifted her handbag into her lap and rooted through it. A moment later, she did indeed pull out a small box, wrapped in red-and-gold paper. She held it out to Draco, who rose from his chair to take it warily.

“What is it?” he asked dubiously. That impish expression on Weasley’s face was making him nervous.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You have to open it to find out, you twat,” she said. “Or do you do presents differently in your family?”

Draco frowned at the small gift box. He thought it odd that she had brought a gift for him, but then, she had come here to celebrate Christmas, hadn’t she? Maybe it wasn’t so odd that she’d brought him something. Still, that only made it worse that he did not have anything for her. Not that he should have gotten her something, given that she had shown up uninvited. Still. He didn’t want to open the present if she didn’t have something, too.

Clearing his throat, Draco reached under the Christmas tree and deliberately selected a small box from the pile of presents he already had there. The box was wrapped in gold paper, with a silver bow on top. He had to get down on his knees to find it. He’d had one of the servants wrap it a couple of weeks ago, though he’d forgotten to send it off. He turned, holding the box out to Ginny. “Here.”

Ginny climbed out of the armchair, coming to join him on the floor beside the Christmas tree. “This is for me?” Her eyes were confused now.

“Yes.” Draco evaded her gaze, and set to opening his own present.

Ginny turned the small gift box over in her hands. “Malfoy,” she said, her voice a mixture of surprise and indignation, “there’s a tag on this that says ‘To Mum, From Draco.’”

“So?” Draco said indifferently, looking up from his present.

“Malfoy.” Ginny looked at him with exasperation. “You can’t give me your mother’s present!”

“Why not?” Draco shrugged. “You’re here. She’s not.”

“But—”

Her reply was cut off as Draco finished unwrapping his present. Beneath the paper was a small black case, and inside the black case was a watch. Draco opened the case in surprise. It was a nice watch—not designer label, he could tell, but not an inexpensive watch, either. The band was silver links, and the delicate hands within shining brass. “You really got this for me?” Draco said, stunned.

Ginny coughed uncomfortably. “Oh, well—” She quickly dropped her gaze and began tearing the paper off her own present. For some reason, her cheeks had gone pink.

Draco looked from her to the watch in suspicion. He took the watch out of the case. When he flipped it over to unfasten it and try it on, he noticed a delicate engraving on the back. He held the watch up close to his eyes and peered at the words inscribed there. “Weasley,” he said flatly, “why does my watch say ‘For my dearest brother?’”

“Sweet Circe,” Ginny breathed. This seemed an odd answer to his question, so Draco glanced up. Ginny wasn’t paying attention to him at all. She had opened the gift Draco had given her, which was a delicate pair of silver earrings—solid silver, each with a tiny, inset emerald. “Malfoy,” Ginny said hoarsely, “you can’t give me these!”

“I already did,” Draco said irritably. “Weasley, why does my watch say, ‘For my dearest brother?’”

“What? Oh.” Weasley tore her gaze from the earrings and blushed again. “Well—I was going to give it to Ron—”

“To the Weasel King!”

“—I dropped off all my gifts for my family before I came here,” she said. She cleared her throat, dropping her gaze. “But I forgot that one was in my handbag. So.” A defensive expression came over her face. “Anyway, you gave me the present you meant to give to your mum!”

“They don’t have an engraving on them,” Draco pointed out snidely.

“You can get the engraving redone,” Ginny snapped. She leaned forward, reaching her hand out towards him. “Anyway, if you don’t want it—”

“Don’t be stupid.” Draco snatched the watch out of her reach in a flash. Quickly, he set about to fastening it over his wrist. “Of course I want it. It’s mine now.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and sat back. Her attention returned to the earrings in her lap, and she swallowed. “Malfoy,” she said, “really, though. How much did these cost?”

“It’s rude to ask how much a gift cost, Weasley,” Draco scoffed. “Merlin, didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

“But—” She glanced up hesitantly, and for a moment, her gaze lingered on the watch on his wrist. Then she cleared her throat and said quietly, “Well, thank you.” She held the earrings up close to her eyes. “I thought they were just done in a sort of swirl design,” she said, “but they’re actually snakes, aren’t they?”

Draco nodded. They were large studs in the shape of serpents, with the green gem in each the serpent’s eye. He watched silently as Ginny removed the simple gold studs she wore and replaced them with the new earrings. Once they were both in, she smiled and looked at him. “Well?” she said expectantly. “How do I look?”

Draco tried to answer, but the words got stuck in his throat. It wasn’t that the earrings made her look extra pretty or anything. She was already pretty, and Draco thought her simple studs suited her better, somehow. But there was something about seeing her wearing his earrings, the ones he’d bought, the ones he’d given to her.

When he didn’t answer right away, Ginny frowned at him. Draco hastily drew up a familiar sneer and said, “Like a dog dancing on its hind legs.”

Ginny threw him a look of deep disgust. “I can’t believe I gave you that watch.”

“Well, you did,” he said smugly.

She sighed and scooted around sideways on the floor, until she faced the sparkling Christmas tree. Then she lay flat on her back, her knees bent, her feet flat on the floor. She sighed again, this time with contentment, and folded her arms beneath her head as she gazed up at the tree.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, wondering if she’d gone mental.

She patted the ground next to her. “Come see.”

“See what? The tree? I can see it from right here.”

Ginny turned her head to look at him. “You have to see it like this,” she said impatiently.

“Malfoys don’t lie on the floor.”

“Just do it,” she snapped. “Trust me.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Draco got up and joined her. He sat beside her and lowered himself back carefully. This was weird, and unnatural, lying back on the floor like this. But once he did, he saw at once what Weasley found so appealing. From this vantage point below the tree, gazing up at it, the lights and the glittering ornaments seemed somehow more dazzling. The tree filled his vision, and the glow of the lights seemed to envelope him, enclosing him in their warmth and brightness. As the minutes ticked by and he and Ginny stared up at the tree, Draco felt, for a brief moment, ridiculously happy. He didn’t think he’d felt that way since he’d celebrated Christmas as a boy. The tree seemed to encompass everything Christmas, and even though he was sharing this moment with Ginny Weasley, and not his family, he felt very much at home. And there was comfort in that.

They passed several long, silent minutes. Then Ginny said softly, “See?”

Draco swallowed. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yes, I see.”

The silence that followed then was peaceful, and not uncomfortable. Draco gazed up at the lights until he felt like he was going blind. Even though the turkey had been dry, he felt comfortably full, and warm beside the fire. The pain in his head had retreated to a dull, small ache, one he barely noticed now. As he began to close his eyes, Ginny said, “Malfoy?”

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you go on holiday with your mum for Christmas?”

Draco’s eyes flew open. “What?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny roll onto her side. She propped her elbow up and rested her head in her hand, and looked at him. “You said your mum wanted to go on holiday and you didn’t want to go. Why? I expect she went somewhere nice.”

“The south of France,” Draco muttered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss this with her.

“That sounds nice.”

“Well, it’s not,” he snapped. He stared up at the ceiling to avoid looking at her. “Because it’s not home.” He paused, wondering if he should say anything more. When Ginny said nothing in reply, he sighed and went on, “She wanted to go because… because my father is in prison.” He said this part quickly, as though if he got it out fast enough, he could pretend he hadn’t said it. “This isn’t the first Christmas we’ve spent without him—we did sixth year. And she hated it. Last year, we had to stay here because I was—because I had to stay here.” He stumbled a little over those words. Because he had still been under house arrest, on probation. Weasley had to know that. But he felt embarrassed, all the same, saying it aloud. “This year, she wanted to get out. I guess being here without him, on Christmas…she doesn’t like it.”

“I can understand that,” Ginny murmured. “But you didn’t want to go?”

“No,” Draco said sharply. “I can’t just—just go on holiday, and pretend like my father isn’t part of our family anymore. Doing Christmas here, together—we always did that. I just—I didn’t want to leave my father behind,” he said quietly. It sounded stupid, now that he said it out loud, but he didn’t know how else to put his feelings into words.

For what seemed a long time, Ginny was quiet. Draco didn’t dare look at her. Instead, he closed his eyes.

But then she spoke. “Can you go visit him tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Draco shifted a little. “I’m going to.”

“It’s different for everybody,” Ginny said unexpectedly. Draco didn’t understand what she was referring to until she went on, “And it’s hard no matter what you do. Last year—last year was our first Christmas without my brother Fred.” Her voice sounded thick. “I didn’t know what to do. None of us did. It seemed almost easier to try and just pretend nothing was wrong—but that felt horrible, too. Like you said—we couldn’t just forget him, pretend he’d never lived.”

Draco glanced aside at her. She lay flat on her back and stared straight up at the ceiling, but as he watched, a single tear slid down the side of her face. It vanished into her hair, but it left its tracks behind, a damp spot on her temple.

Seeing that tear made Draco feel shaky and unstable. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to regain control of himself. It didn’t matter what he did, he realized. It was always going to be different now. His Christmases would never be like they were, when he was a child, when both of his parents were here. Even once his father got out of prison, it wouldn’t be the same. Because nothing was the same anymore. Not after the war.

He didn’t want to think about it anymore, about his mother, his father. He felt exhausted, thinking about them. He cleared his throat and asked, “So why did you break up with Potter?”

“What?” Ginny sounded startled.

“I thought he was your bloody dream come true,” Draco said. He tried to inject some snark into his words, but they sounded hollow to his ears. “I’d never have thought you’d dump him.”

She didn’t answer right away, and Draco waited for her to blow up at him, as he was sure she would. But surprisingly, she only sighed and said, “Neither did I.”

“So why did you then?”

“It’s just—being with him—I don’t know.” There was a helpless tone to her voice. “It wasn’t like I thought it would be, I guess.”

Draco smirked, and it felt good. “Disappointing in the sack, was he?”

“No, he was not—! I mean, that’s none of your business!” Ginny rolled onto her side and smacked his arm. Draco glanced aside at her and found her scowling fiercely, which amused him, for some reason. “That’s not what I meant,” she grumbled. “I just meant…” She trailed off, and her eyes pinched with frustration. “I’d had a crush on Harry since I was a little girl.”

“I remember,” Draco said sourly. Oh, how he remembered. The first time he’d seen her, when she’d stood up to him for Potter in Flourish and Blott’s. And that stupid Valentine she’d sent him second year.

“It’s just—I guess I built him up too much in my head,” she mused. “Or, well—that’s not quite it. I mean, I know Harry really well. I don’t feel like I had unrealistic expectations or anything. And I was happy with him at school, at the end of my fifth year, and even my seventh year, though that was long-distance…” She trailed off, and shrugged. “But after I graduated—I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. I got…bored.” She threw a hand over her eyes and groaned. “Oh, Merlin. There. I said it. I said it, and it sounds as horrible as I thought it would.”

“It’s not horrible,” Draco said reasonably. He’d dropped his head to one side to look at her, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. “It’s his fault if can’t keep you entertained.”

“I told you that’s not what I meant!” Ginny snapped, dropping her hand from her face to glare at him. “It’s just…I don’t know.” She sighed. “It’s not like I was happy to end it. I wanted to be happy with him, and I hate that I couldn’t be. Does that make sense?”

“Hmm,” Draco agreed vaguely. His eyes had fallen shut, and sleep was quickly overtaking him, drowning her voice out. He thought he’d fallen asleep when he heard her speak again, and he wondered if he was dreaming.

“It’s just,” she said quietly, her voice little more than a whisper, “sometimes I think it’s because I—because…”

Draco tried to open his eyes. He barely managed it, Ginny’s hazy form swimming before his tired gaze. “Because what?” he asked drowsily.

“Because…” She bit her lip, and looked at him. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about someone else.”

Draco felt a small jolt of surprise at these words, but he couldn’t say why. He tried to form a response, but if he did, he didn’t remember it. He wasn’t even sure, as he drifted off to sleep, that he wasn’t already dreaming, and hadn’t dreamed those last words of hers.

He slept well, better than he had all week, dreaming pleasant dreams that he couldn’t quite recall in the morning. But he woke with a vague sense of warmth, and contentment, and happiness. It was surprising really, how well he’d slept, given that he’d apparently spent the entire night on the floor of the drawing room, beneath the Christmas tree.

It was the sight of the Christmas tree, twinkling down at him, that brought it all flooding back. Ginny. She was gone now, but she’d been here last night, he remembered. It all seemed like some weird dream, and for a moment, he wondered if it had been. The thought brought a sense of panic, for some reason.

But when he forced himself to his feet and made his way to the kitchen, he found it clean and tidy. The remains of his burnt turkey were in the fridge. And, sitting on the counter, was a large plate that did not belong to him. It was filled with food—turkey, not burnt like his, mashed potatoes, greens, stuffing, pudding. And beside it was a small scrap of parchment—a note. Draco picked it up and read:

Malfoy,

I decided I should face my family for lunch today, since you’re going to see your father anyway. Here’s a plate of food from my mum’s—the turkey’s not burnt like ours was. Thank you for the earrings, and I hope you have a good Christmas.

Ginny

P.S. What are you doing for New Year’s?

***************

PART TWO: COUNTDOWN TO MIDNIGHT


Draco shoved his hands in his pockets as he followed Ginny up the walkway to the red-brick house before them. It was a large house, though not nearly so large as the manor, with a short flight of stairs that led up to the front door. It was also in the middle of nowhere. In other words, just the sort of house a bunch of ex-Hogwarts students would throw a New Year’s Eve bash in.

“Whose party is this again?” Draco asked, as they mounted the steps to the front door.

“Michael Corner’s,” Ginny said. She looked quite pretty tonight, Draco thought, in a shimmering green top and a pair of black jeans with just a hint of silver glitter running down the front of them. She wore her bright red hair down around her shoulders, but the earrings she wore—the earrings Draco had given her—were quite visible anyway. Draco had noticed she was wearing the earrings, but hadn’t said anything about them. He wore the watch she’d given him too, but if she’d noticed, she hadn’t said anything either.

She had already had quite enough to say about what he was wearing, as far as he was concerned. She’d met up with him at the manor before bringing him here, and immediately made him change out of his black slacks into a pair of khaki pants. She made him remove his tie too, and made him unbutton his dark blue oxford shirt, revealing the plain, black t-shirt he wore beneath. That was as far as she got with him.

“It’s not a fancy party, Malfoy,” she’d told him snootily. “You’ll look like a prat, going like that.” Draco rather thought he looked like a prat now, like he was from some Muggle boy band or something. Ginny, unfortunately, disagreed.

“Who’s Michael Corner?” Draco asked, as Ginny rang the bell.

Ginny looked around at him incredulously. “Really? He was in your year at school, Malfoy.”

“Don’t know him,” Draco said dismissively.

“I used to date him,” Ginny said casually.

“From what I remember, you used to date half the school.”

Ginny glared at him. “I dated three boys. Three boys! Merlin, you sound like my brothers.” She rang the doorbell again, a little impatiently.

Draco could faintly make out the sound of loud music from inside. “Maybe we should just go in,” he suggested, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth than the door swung open.

The faint noise of loud music swelled into a raucous crescendo as the door opened. The small entrance hall was packed with people, chatting, chugging drinks, horsing around. Draco’s attention, though, was fixed on the girl that had opened the door to them. She wore a skin-tight, gold mini dress that exposed quite a bit of leg, gold heels to match, and a sparkling choker at her throat. Draco recognized her, of course, but for about half a second he didn’t even care that she was a Mudblood.

“Whoa,” he said, taking her in.

“Hermione!” Ginny cried. “You look fantastic!”

“Erm—thanks.” Granger spared a quick, half-smile for Ginny before turning her attention to Draco. Her expression was quizzical. “Erm—you brought Malfoy?”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a fancy party,” Draco said, smirking at Granger. “What happened, Granger? Having some trouble keeping the Weasel King’s attention? Thought you’d spice things up for him?”

Ginny smacked him in the arm—quite hard, in fact. Granger only gave him a disparaging look before turning her gaze on Ginny. “You brought Malfoy,” she repeated, her tone flat.

“Yes, well—he didn’t have any other plans.” Ginny grabbed Draco by the arm and dragged him inside, forcing Granger back several steps to make room for them. As Ginny shut the door behind them, Draco looked around. He peered up the staircase on his left, and down the short corridor before them. Everywhere was packed with people, all around their age. Draco recognized a lot of them from Hogwarts, even those he didn’t know by name.

Absolutely none of them were from Slytherin House.

“Weasley,” he said, more than a little irritated, “what did you bring me here for?”

“That’s what I was wondering,” Granger said dryly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ginny rolled her eyes at Draco. “Are you going to be this anti-social the whole night?”

“Ginny,” Granger said, her eyes narrowed. “Could I talk to you for a moment—alone?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Granger,” Draco said, still craning his neck to look around. “You can say whatever you need to say in front of me. I promise you won’t hurt my feelings.”

“All right, then,” Granger said, her words clipped. She looked from Draco to Ginny, and her gaze softened into a concerned frown. “Ginny, you know Harry is here, don’t you?”

“What? No!” Ginny shook her head, dismay in her big brown eyes. “I thought he was out of town for that Quidditch match in Bulgaria—”

“No, he decided not to go,” Granger said. “He’s here. So is Ron, for that matter,” she added, with a pointed look at Draco.

“Well, I figured he would be,” Ginny said crossly. “Look, Hermione, I’d rather not see Harry at the moment, you know that. But I can’t just avoid him forever, and I really don’t care what either he or Ron thinks about me bringing Malfoy.”

Granger eyed Draco dubiously. “Is he, like…did you bring him as a date?”

“What?” Draco and Ginny exclaimed simultaneously.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Ginny said hastily. “I just…we’re…friends?” She raised an eyebrow at Draco, as though looking for his confirmation.

Draco returned her gaze stonily. “We are not friends.”

“Whatever.” Ginny sighed, turning back to Granger. “Look, can we just put all this school stuff behind us, please? Ron and Harry probably won’t even notice we’re here. This party’s, er, rather bigger than I thought it would be,” she added, looking around. “Which is fine. We probably won’t even run into Harry and Ron.”

Somehow, Draco thought that was probably too good a hope to come true.

Granger disappeared into the party then, presumably to find Weasley. Ginny took Draco’s arm and dragged him down the main corridor. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s get a drink or something.”

A drink, Draco thought, sounded like a very good idea. As they made their way through the throngs of people, more and more people looked around and seemed to notice him. He received many cold stares and baffled gazes, especially when people seemed to notice he was with Ginny. Some people even openly pointed and started whispering to their friends.

“Really,” Draco complained, “why did you bring me here? I should just go.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ginny said. She looked as though she were enjoying herself already, obviously happy to be surrounded by old school friends, bobbing her head a little to the music. Several people called out to her or waved hello, as they made their way back to the kitchen, where a couple of long tables were set up with food and drinks.

“I brought you here,” Ginny said, grabbing two random drinks off the table, “because otherwise, you were going to be sitting home alone on New Year’s Eve. And that’s just boring.” She handed Draco one of the drinks before taking a sip of hers.

Draco peered down into the orangey liquid suspiciously. “What is this?”

Ginny ran her tongue across her lips thoughtfully, and Draco was so momentarily distracted by this that he almost didn’t hear her response, “Pumpkin juice,” she said, “with rum, I think.”

“You think?”

“Don’t be such a snob, Malfoy,” Ginny said. “Anyway, you must have wanted to come, or you wouldn’t have let me talk you into it.”

He wouldn’t have said he wanted to come, really, though he wasn’t totally opposed to a good party. Still, he had suspected it would be full of people he didn’t know or didn’t like, and that appeared to be true. All in all, he thought glumly, as he took a swig of his spiked pumpkin juice, it was going to be a long two hours ‘til midnight.

Still…it was almost worth it, to be here with Ginny. He supposed that was why he had let her talk him into it—because it was her. Draco really didn’t have friends, not anymore, aside from Pansy, maybe. Since Christmas, Ginny had sort of become something like a friend, and though Draco would never have admitted it aloud, it felt…nice…to be around her. He had shared some rather personal things with her on Christmas Eve—probably because he’d been high on Pepper-up Potion—and she hadn’t made fun of him or walked away.

Yes, there was definitely something nice about that.

“Well, if it isn’t Ginny Weasley.”

Ginny and Draco looked around. A girl stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a girl with long, dark hair, dark eyes, and a pointed chin. She didn’t look the slightest bit familiar to Draco, but Ginny’s expression darkened with displeasure. “Hello, Romilda,” she said, obviously struggling to sound pleasant.

“So how are you, Ginny?” Romilda asked with false pleasantry. She smiled, looking rather like the cat that got the cream. “I mean…after what happened. Well, I just couldn’t believe it when I’d heard. Breaking up with Harry Potter? After everything you’d done to catch him—”

“Excuse me?” Ginny spluttered. “Catch him? He’s not a fish!”

“And then you just dump him? You dump Harry Potter?” Romilda shook her head, giving Ginny a look full of contemptuous pity. “Well, I guess he just wasn’t interesting enough for you anymore. Got bored with him, did you? Is that why you’ve moved onto Draco Malfoy, of all people? Someone wealthier, just as famous, even more scandalous?”

“She makes good points,” Draco said mildly.

“Not helpful, Malfoy!” Ginny seethed. “And for your information, you horrid cow, I have not moved on to Draco Malfoy—”

“Oh, no need to deny it, Ginny,” Romilda said. “I understand perfectly. You never cared about poor Harry at all, did you? You were just in it for the fame, for the attention. And when that got old, you started looking elsewhere for more of the same. You know, I feel sorry for you, Ginny Weasley. Girls like you will never be happy, you know. Now if you don’t mind, I think I’ll just go check in on Harry and see if I can possibly console him over losing you.” And with another flip of her hair and a sneer, she turned and flounced away.

“Well,” Draco said, in the stunned silence Romilda left in her wake, “that was pleasant. Friend of yours?”

“That—horrid¬—that—she—” Ginny’s face was bright red with anger, and she kept clenching her hand into a fist at her side.

“Careful, Weasley,” Draco warned, “you’re starting to remind me of your brother when he gets angry. Red-faced, incoherent—”

“She feels sorry for me?” Ginny burst out. “Did she really just say that? And you!” She spun around and stabbed Draco in the chest with a finger. “You just stood there and made snide remarks, you useless lump! Why didn’t you tell her we weren’t together!”

“I had as much of a chance of getting a word in through all that as you did,” Draco protested. He rubbed his chest where she’d poked him and grabbed her fist before she could do it again. “And anyway, what do you care what a stupid girl like that thinks?”

“It’s not just what she thinks,” Ginny grumbled. “By the end of the night, she’ll have everyone else here thinking we’re dating!”

“Well, honestly, Weasley, if you didn’t want anyone thinking that, then you probably shouldn’t have brought me.”

Ginny growled wordlessly. “Here.” She shoved her drink at him, forcing him to take it. “I need something stronger than this. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” And before Draco could object to her leaving him alone, she disappeared into the kitchen. Draco took a step forward to follow her, but the kitchen was so packed, he couldn’t see how she even got inside it to begin with. Muttering under his breath, Draco stalked off, draining his pumpkin juice and starting in on Ginny’s.

It was good that he got some alcohol in him—though not nearly enough, so far as he was concerned; whoever had spiked the pumpkin juice had done a piss-poor job—because he suffered several uncomfortable confrontations of his own, all within the next twenty minutes. First he ran into Longbottom, of all people, who was roaring drunk and actually tried to get into a fist-fight with Draco. The fat-faced git actually would have hit him if a couple of blokes hadn’t stepped in and pulled him off elsewhere. Then he ran into Parvati Patil, who tried to come onto him—Patil! Coming onto him! She must have been sloshed too, though she didn’t really seem very out of it to Draco. Either that, or she had just really, really decided to put all that “school stuff” behind them, as Ginny had said. He’d barely gotten away from her when he ran into some obnoxious Hufflepuff he vaguely remembered from his year at Hogwarts—Smith, maybe?—who rudely and loudly asked why there hadn’t been a hex put over the door to keep out “anyone with a Dark Mark.”

Draco finally made it back to the kitchen, but it was still packed, and Ginny was nowhere to be seen. He’d just decided that it might be better to duck off upstairs and find some out-of-the-way place to hide when someone said, “Oi, Malfoy! I want a word, you evil git!”

Draco suppressed a groan and looked around. Weasley stood before him—Ron Weasley—and at his side was, of course, stupid Scarhead Potter. Draco hadn’t seen Potter in a long while, not in person, anyway. In fact, he realized with a jolt, the last time he’d seen Potter was more than a year ago—at his trial.

When Potter had spoken on his behalf.

“What do you want, Weasley?” Draco drawled, ignoring Potter entirely.

“I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing with my sister, Malfoy!” Weasley demanded angrily. He looked a little crazed. “Hermione said you came here with her, and now I hear that you’re dating her?”

Ginny wasn’t wrong, apparently; word traveled fast from that Romilda girl’s lips. Draco looked from the red-faced Weasley to Potter, considering several replies. He wondered what Potter thought of these rumors that he and Ginny were dating, only a month after she’d ended things with him. “Why don’t you ask your stupid sister about it yourself, Weasley?” Draco said with a sneer.

“Don’t call my sister stupid!” Weasley bellowed. “Why did you come here with her, Malfoy?”

“Because she invited me, genius!” Draco snapped. “Isn’t that generally why people go to a party with someone else? She invited me, and if you want to know her reasons, you’ll have to ask her! That is, if she isn’t still avoiding you,” he added snidely.

Weasley’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? Why would she be avoiding me?”

“Well, when her own family takes Potter’s side over hers,” Draco spat, tossing a spiteful nod in Scarhead’s direction. “And you wonder why she wants to avoid you? Didn’t you wonder why she didn’t want to spend Christmas with you lot?”

“It’s not like that,” Potter objected. “No one’s choosing sides.”

“Hang on,” Weasley said, his eyes going wide, making him look like some demented cuckoo, “what do you know about where she spent Christmas? I—she—you—” Draco didn’t think it possible, but Weasley went even redder, red as a tomato. “It—it was you, wasn’t it? She spent Christmas Eve with you? She spent the night with you?”

Draco glanced over at Potter again. The black-haired git seemed to have just come to this same realization, and he looked stunned, and maybe a little hurt. Draco didn’t care. He was tired of dealing with these two, tired of dealing with all these people who looked down on him, who hated him. He remembered the last time he’d seen Potter, when the bloody Chosen One had spoken for him at his trial. He also remembered seeing Ginny there, by Potter’s side. He remembered watching her leave with Potter, and he remembered the hot flash of jealousy that had surged through him, the resentment and anger that his refuge, his bright light was not really his at all, and never would be.

But that wasn’t the case anymore. Even if he and Ginny weren’t together, she wasn’t with Potter anymore, out of her own choosing. “Yes, Weasley,” Draco hissed spitefully. “She spent the night with me, at my place. Just the two of us. And if you want any details, you’ll have to ask her. Because I’m a gentleman, see. I don’t kiss and tell. Of course, I’m not sure why you’d want to know those kind of details about your own sister—”

The next thing Draco knew, he was on the floor, his jaw blossoming with pain, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He swore violently and spat, but before he could get to his feet, Weasley had grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him upright, pinning him against the wall by the kitchen. All Draco could see was his stupid tomato-red face, his eyes, wild with anger. “You—Malfoy—”

“Don’t, Ron.” And then Potter was there, pulling the stupid weasel back, forcing him to let go of Draco. “Leave him. He’s not worth it.”

“Not worth it? Did you hear him, what he said, about Ginny—”

“He’s just riling you up. It’s Malfoy.” Potter threw him a flat glance. “Leave him. C’mon, let’s go find Hermione. You said you’d get her a drink; she’s probably wondering where we are.”

The mention of his stupid Mudblood girlfriend finally did it. Weasley shrugged Potter’s hold off him, and with one last glare for Draco, he stalked off. Potter held his gaze a moment longer, and Draco could not tell what he was thinking. Then he, too, disappeared into the crowd.

People had gathered around them, of course, whispering and pointing, just as they had been doing with Draco all night. No one stepped forward to help him, of course. The whole left side of his jaw ached; he felt as though Weasley had dislodged it.

This was stupid, this whole thing. What was he even doing here? Why the hell had Ginny brought him here and then run off on him? He wasn’t going to stick around any longer. He had no chance of finding her in all this lot, and he wasn’t going to give anyone else a chance to accost him.

He was on his way out when he caught a flash of red hair in the crowd, out of the corner of his eye. He glanced aside and saw, with a wave of relief, Ginny, a little ways away. She had another drink in her hand, and she was chatting with a couple of girls, Granger for one, and the other Patil girl, and one of the girls who’d been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team—Spinnett, he thought. Hoping Potter and his weasel sidekick weren’t anywhere nearby, he starting pushing through the crowd to get to Ginny.

He’d nearly reached her when another large group of girls moved in front of him and stopped, blocking his way. As Draco struggled to get around them, he heard Patil’s voice, floating over the din. “No, but really, Ginny. Why did you bring Malfoy?”

Draco froze. As the group blocking his way started to move on, he ducked behind a large pillar near Ginny and the others. He closed his eyes, trying to hear over the music and all the people.

“I dunno,” he heard Ginny say, in response to Patil’s question. She sounded vaguely uncomfortable. “Is it really so weird that I did?”

“Yes,” Granger, Patil, and Spinnet all chimed in together.

“Oh, come on, Ginny.” This was Granger now; Draco recognized her annoying, self-righteous voice. “You know it’s strange. You had to know we would ask.”

“You’re the one who’s always saying we shouldn’t judge everyone based on their House in school,” Ginny said accusingly. “You’re the one always saying we should put it all behind us, the rivalry and all—”

“Well.” Now Granger sounded a little uncomfortable. “That doesn’t mean you have to get all chummy with Malfoy.”

“Yeah,” Spinnet chimed in. “I mean, after all he’s done—”

“He’s done some good, too,” Ginny snapped. “Only no one cares about that, probably.”

There was a slight pause. “What do you mean, Ginny?” Granger asked curiously. “What good has he done?”

Draco held his breath, his heart racing. Surely she wasn’t going to tell them. She couldn’t tell them. That was between him and Ginny, that was their secret, their business and no one else’s. Anyway, he’d done what he’d done for his own reasons, not because he wanted to be forgiven; he didn’t care for their forgiveness and he didn’t need it.

But all Ginny said was, “Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” She sighed. “Look, I know he’s been a right prat, all right? He still is, honestly. But that’s not all he is, either. Just because that’s all you see…that’s not all he is.”

“Really?” Patil sounded skeptical. “So behind all the money and the power, there’s a fluffy little teddy bear, is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” Ginny snapped. “I’m saying, behind all the power, behind all the money, the prestige…he’s just…lonely.” She paused. When she spoke again, it was so quietly that Draco almost couldn’t hear her. “We all are.”

Her words were like a punch in the gut to Draco. For a stunned second, he felt…raw, vulnerable, exposed. Like a child left alone in the freezing cold. That she had seen through him so easily…it cut him to the core.

Anger flared within him. That she thought she’d seen through him. What did she think she knew about him, anyway? Just because he’d nearly spent Christmas alone didn’t mean he was lonely. Just because she was lonely didn’t mean he was. He didn’t need her pity, and he wasn’t some poor sod she could just come crying to because she’d dumped Potter.

He stalked off. He wasn’t going to leave just yet. He needed another drink first. He started off for the kitchen, edging along the far wall to get past all the people. He’d just reached the end of a long mantelpiece above a roaring fireplace when someone said, “Draco Malfoy.”

Draco looked around. Sitting on the end of a sofa by the fireplace was Looney Lovegood. Her name wasn’t really Looney, of course, but he couldn’t remember what her real name was. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually known it. Which seemed a bit strange, considering she’d been held prisoner in his basement for months.

“What do you want?” Draco snarled.

“Just saying hello,” Looney said pleasantly. She was wearing a shirt with blinding silver sequins sewn into it, and huge, sparkly earrings. They were so bright it made it hard to look her in the face. “Your face is very red, here,” she said, pointing to her own left cheek. “Did someone hit you? I wouldn’t be surprised. A lot of people here don’t like you, do they?”

Draco stared at her incredulously. “No need to state the obvious,” he snapped. “I suppose you don’t like me either, do you?”

“Well, you were quite mean to me at school,” Lovegood said, looking at him with those huge, vacant eyes. “But you weren’t the only one. A lot of people were mean to me at school. And I don’t think it’s your fault that I was held captive in your basement. You didn’t really have a say in that, did you?”

Now, Draco was just plain confused. “Er—no, I didn’t. Are you saying you do like me?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lovegood said. “Like I said, you were quite mean. But that was a long time ago, and you did come here with Ginny. I suppose if she’s your friend, then I can be your friend, too.”

“How nice of you,” Draco said sarcastically, “but unless you’ve got a good stiff drink hidden around somewhere, I’m not really interested in being your friend at the moment, Lovegood.” He turned his back on her.

“Well, I have got some Firewhiskey. Would that do?”

Draco whipped around. “You what?” He stared. Lovegood did indeed have a bottle of Ogden’s Firewhiskey, sitting on the coffee table before her. He hadn’t even noticed. There were several cups sitting around on the table, as well as a few shot glasses.

“Someone left it here,” Looney said. Primly, as though she were pouring tea, she poured Firewhiskey into two different shot glasses. “I’ve been looking for someone to do a shot with me, but no one will. Do you want to?”


* * *


“Oof—ow, oh, I’m sorry, Katie,” Ginny said, as someone bumped into her from behind, knocking her into Katie Bell. “Have you seen Malfoy anywhere?”

“Malfoy?” Katie gave her a strange look. “No. Sorry.”

Ginny sighed. There was little more than half an hour to midnight, and she couldn’t find Malfoy anywhere. She didn’t even realize she’d left him alone for so long, not that she’d really meant to in the first place. When she’d returned from the kitchen after her encounter with Romilda Vane, Malfoy had been nowhere to be found. That was more than an hour ago. She’d looked for him for a bit, but was constantly running into old friends, and the time passed by in the blink of an eye.

She wondered what Malfoy had been doing on his own for an hour. She wondered if he was even still here. The house had gotten more and more crowded the later it got; it was getting difficult to move about at all. And of course, people were getting more and more trashed. Ginny had passed Parvati Patil puking her guts out into a rubbish bin in the kitchen, and then she’d nearly gotten roped into a drunken wrestling match between Seamus Finnegan and Justin Finch-Fletchley. And there was a loud group clustered over by the fireplace on the far side of the room, doing what, Ginny didn’t know, but as she’d passed by earlier, she’d distinctly heard Cormac McLaggen bellowing in his loud, brash voice, “Take it off, take it off!”

“Did you say you were looking for Malfoy, Ginny?”

Ginny looked around. It was Michael Corner. Even though it was his party, this was the first time she’d seen him all night.

“I heard you’d come with him.” Michael leaned against the wall, grinning. “I have to say, I always thought you preferred dark-haired men. Also, you know, men who aren’t evil.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Have you seen him?”

Still grinning, Michael jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Over there, by the fireplace.”

Ginny frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” Michael’s grin widened. “Very sure.”

With a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, Ginny fought her way through the crowd of people. It took her nearly ten minutes, and the crowd grew thicker and thicker the closer she got to the fireplace. Finally, giving a very drunk Zacharias Smith a good kick in the shin, she managed to get through, nearly stumbling as she burst from the crowd and knocked into the back of an armchair. It was a good thing the armchair was there to steady her, actually, because she thought she might have fallen over in sheer shock if it hadn’t been.

“Oh. My. God,” she said stupidly, staring at the scene before her.

Four people were gathered before the fireplace, around a large, square coffee table, all obviously plastered and in varying states of undress. Luna was the only girl, and was, thankfully, mostly decent. She only wore a single earring, a huge, garish, sparkling earring, and on top she only wore a thin camisole that was practically see-through, hinting at the bright yellow-and-blue polka-dotted bra she wore beneath it. Ernie Macmillan sat on the sofa across from her, in only his underwear and his socks. His round face was bright red; Ginny wasn’t sure if it was because he was embarrassed, or because he’d had so much to drink. Cormac McLaggen stood beside him, bare-chested and waving around a huge, half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey. He was cheering, “Flip it, flip it!”

And beside him, in the midst of all this madness, was Draco Malfoy.

Ginny watched in bemused shock as Draco, egged on by Cormac’s cheering, flipped a little bronze Knut into the air. He was still mostly dressed—he’d discarded his button-down oxford somewhere, wearing only his black t-shirt on top, and he was also completely barefoot. He was grinning like a mad person as he flipped the Knut in the air, calling “Heads!”

The Knut landed flat on the table, and Luna leaned over it, squinting. “Tales,” she announced.

Ernie and Cormac—as well as several people behind Ginny, watching—roared in glee. “Strip or sip, Malfoy!” Cormac hollered.

Malfoy smirked and held out an empty shot glass to Cormac. “Pour me one then, McLaggen, and no need to look so disappointed.”

“What the hell,” Ginny said, as Cormac poured Malfoy a shot, “is going on here?”

Malfoy looked around at the sound of her voice. When his eyes landed on Ginny—it took him a moment to locate her—his whole face brightened. “Ginny!” he cried happily. He was like a five-year old who’d been told Christmas was coming early. He quickly downed the shot Cormac poured him and bounded over to her like an eager puppy. Before she could stop him, he threw an arm around her shoulders, hugging her tightly to his side. “Come join us!” he exclaimed.

“No, thank y—” Ginny began, but Malfoy either didn’t hear her, or ignored her, for he dragged her around the coffee table, his arm still about her shoulder.

“Ginny’s going to play!” Malfoy announced.

“Ginny!” Ernie cried, raising his empty shot glass, as though to toast her.

“No, I’m not,” Ginny protested.

“Oh, good,” Cormac said. He leaned towards her, leering. Without really meaning to, Ginny retreated a little, leaning closer into Malfoy. “We need another girl.”

“Oi!” Malfoy said indignantly. His grip around Ginny’s shoulders tightened, and he raised his hand to point at Cormac warningly, his shot glass still clutched in his fingers. “None of that now, you fiend. Ginny’s off-limits to you.”

“Just to me,” Cormac said defensively, “or to everyone, Malfoy?”

Draco seemed to think about this seriously for a moment. “To everyone,” he declared.

Cormac snorted, but he was grinning. “Oh, I see. What’re you, her protector?”

“As you might recall, Cormac,” Ginny said sweetly, “I don’t need a protector. Or don’t you remember our lovely Quidditch match in my fifth year?”

Draco practically spoke right over her. “Yes!” he exclaimed, pointing at Cormac again. “That’s it. That’s exactly it.” His words were beginning to slur together a little. “I’m Ginny’s—” He paused, and Ginny felt his chest rumble with a suppressed hiccup, “—protector.” He looked down at Ginny, practically beaming. “Aren’t I, Ginny?”

Ginny knew she should be annoyed with the stupid prat, but she could feel a smile stealing over her face, and she couldn’t help it. “Yes, Malfoy,” she said with a laugh, “you are.”

She managed to slide out from beneath Draco’s arm, and went to sit beside Luna on one of the sofas. “What, exactly, is going on here?” she demanded, as Cormac flipped the Knut in the air. He called for Tales as it landed, and when Draco looked and announced it was, indeed, Tales, the Knut was passed on to Ernie.

Luna smiled happily. “It’s a drinking game, Ginny.”

“I figured that much,” Ginny said dryly.

“You flip the Knut,” Luna explained. Ginny couldn’t tell if she wasn’t as drunk as the others, or if she just held her liquor very well. She seemed a little vacant and quite happy, but then, that was Luna. “And you call Heads or Tales. If you call it right, you pass the coin on, but if you’re wrong, you have to either take a shot or take off a piece of clothing.” She smiled dreamily. “It was just Draco and I taking shots at first, but then Cormac turned up, and luckily he had another bottle of Firewhiskey, because the first one was near empty. He’s the one that started the game.”

Ginny watched in some dismay as the near-nude Ernie, who had clearly called it wrong, took off one of his socks. He passed the Knut to Luna, who flipped it and called Tales. She called it right, and she passed the Knut to Ginny.

“Oh, no.” Ginny held up her hands. “I’m not playing.”

“C’mon, Ginny!” Ernie roared. “You’ve got to!”

“Oh, go on, Weasley,” Draco said, still grinning like an idiot.

“Just once, Ginny,” Luna put in.

Ginny sighed dramatically. “Oh, all right.” She flipped the Knut and called Tales, but it came back Heads.

“Yeah!” Cormac punched a fist into the air. “Strip!”

But Malfoy already had a shot glass full for her, and handed it over. Ginny had only had two drinks all night, more than an hour ago, so she supposed one shot wouldn’t hurt. She downed it quickly, then made a face, shuddering a little. “Ugh,” she said, handing the shot glass back to Malfoy. He laughed at her—a real laugh, and Ginny found, oddly, that it wasn’t disturbing at all. It seemed…natural, his laugh, and with the heat of the shot warming her, she had to admit she rather liked the sound of it.

The game went on a few more rounds, though Ginny opted out. Ernie lost again, and removed his other sock. Luna lost and removed her other earring, and while Cormac protested that earrings shouldn’t count as clothing, Draco, rather graciously, waved him off, telling him to leave “my friend Looney” alone.

“Her name is Luna,” Ginny said indignantly. “And since when are you two friends?”

Draco laughed again. “Jealous, Weasley? I can have more than one friend than you.”

“And I don’t mind him calling me Looney,” Luna said. “I just call him Ferret. Because remember? When Moody—or that Death Eater, I mean—turned him into a ferret and bounced him around the hall?” She giggled, and then she couldn’t seem to stop giggling.

“None of that.” Malfoy placed a hand over his eyes melodramatically. “That was a traumatic moment for me, Looney.”

Cormac took another shot, and when Ernie lost again, his face went from red to green. For one horrified moment, Ginny thought he might take his underwear off, but instead, resigned, he took a shot. No sooner had he downed it than he bolted, leaping to his feet and tearing off in the direction of the loo. Cormac laughed uproariously after him.

It was only then that Ginny noticed most of the people that had been watching had wandered off. Across the room, someone yelled, “Ten minutes ‘til midnight!”

They played one last round of the game. Luna won and passed the Knut to Ginny, who lost and declined another shot from Draco, removing a shoe instead. Draco lost, and surprised Ginny when he also declined a shot. Grinning devilishly, he went for his belt instead, and Ginny was slightly alarmed, but he stopped there. Cormac took the last shot, finishing up the last of the Firewhiskey. He dropped into the other sofa, looking a bit miffed at the empty bottle, as though it had let him down somehow.

Malfoy, however, didn’t seem upset the game was at an end. He came over and perched on the arm of the sofa beside Ginny, laughing again. She really did like the sound of his laugh, Ginny decided, and when he slipped off the armrest and nearly fell into her lap, she didn’t even mind. She only laughed too, and scooted over a little to give him room to sit beside her. Luna smiled at the both of them and got up to go sit by a dozing Cormac, even though there was plenty of room on the sofa for all three of them.

“You,” Ginny said good-naturedly, kicking off her other shoe, “seem extremely happy.”

Draco widened his eyes as he slouched down in the corner of the sofa beside her. “What’s not to be happy about?” he said, sounding quite pleased. “It’s New Year’s Eve, we’re at a party—”

“—which you were not entirely thrilled to be at earlier,” Ginny reminded him.

“—and,” he went on, “I’m sitting here with a pretty girl.”

Ginny blinked. “I—oh. Well.” She still felt a bit warm from the shot she’d taken earlier, but the initial buzz of the alcohol had worn off enough that she was a bit taken aback by this compliment. “Er…thank you.”

Malfoy smiled mischievously. He slouched down even further, so low that Ginny could look down at him. “Who says I was talking about you?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “What other girls are sitting here with you?”

“There’s Looney,” he said, tossing a nod in Luna’s direction, across the table.

“I see,” Ginny said flatly.

“Only teasing.” Malfoy smiled again. His eyes were a little unfocused on her face, but for the first time that Ginny had ever seen, they were bright with happiness. “Of course I meant you.”

Ginny wasn’t sure if she was blushing, or if it was just the warmth of the Firewhiskey, but her cheeks felt hot.

“Five minutes ‘til midnight!” someone bellowed nearby.

Ginny glanced up. People were passing around plastic flutes of champagne and snatching up poppers. A good deal of people were heading for the back, probably headed outside for fireworks at midnight. Instead of going to join them, Ginny pulled her feet onto the couch, curling her knees up and settling in more comfortably. She looked over at Malfoy, who grinned foolishly at her, and tried to think of something to say.

“So why did Ernie lose so much clothing, then?” she asked.

Malfoy smirked. “He kept losing. He took a lot of shots at first, and then he couldn’t take anymore. Resorted to taking off his clothes.”

“Well, all right.” Ginny shook her head. “But what sort of idiot takes his pants off before his socks?”

Malfoy laughed. “A really, really drunk one.”

“What else have you been up to, then?” she asked.

Malfoy turned his head towards her a little, and pointed at his cheek, which, she saw, was looking faintly discolored. “Your brother punched me.”

“What?” Ginny straightened a little, outraged. “Ron punched you! Why?”

Draco shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. “I might have deserved it,” he said impishly.

Ginny made a small, disparaging noise in the back of her throat. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Well, you left me alone!” Draco protested. He straightened, or tried to. He didn’t make it up very far—just enough that he was level with Ginny, so he could look her in the eye. His elbow was touching her arm, and he made no move to pull away. “And of course I got into trouble without you.”

Ginny smiled quizzically. “I thought it was the other way around,” she teased. “Aren’t I the one who gets into trouble without you?” The words were out of her mouth before she could really think about them.

“Too right,” Draco grumbled. He shook his head. “Buying cursed jewels, Splinching all your fingernails off…”

Ginny dropped her gaze, and fiddled with her hands in her lap. “Getting tortured,” she said quietly. “Getting caught by the Carrows. Nearly being…” She trailed off, unable to finish that last one.

She wasn’t sure why she was bringing this up now. Maybe because she’d always been able to tell that he didn’t want her to, that he didn’t want her to ask why. Only now, he was drunk and happy and not at all like the Malfoy she usually knew. The sneer, the cruel remarks, the mask he used to guard himself from the rest of the world, was gone. All his defenses, broken down.

Malfoy looked at her, his expression now serious, but still open, all his feelings exposed on his face. “Yeah,” he said softly, “all that.”

He leaned in towards her a little, though whether on purpose or because he couldn’t remain upright, Ginny didn’t know. She didn’t care. She didn’t move away, as his shoulder rested comfortably against hers, and he gazed into her eyes.

“Why—” Ginny’s voice came out hoarse, and she tried to clear her throat, but it didn’t seem to help. “Why do you always do that?” she asked in a near-whisper. “Get me out of trouble, I mean?”

She nearly jumped when Malfoy’s arm slid over hers, but he only took her hand in his. Without breaking her gaze, he said simply, “When I see you hurt…I hurt.”

Ginny stared at him, unable to look away, as though she’d been Imperiused, compelled to gaze into those gray eyes and drown in their depths. They were counting down, she realized distantly, counting down for the New Year.

“…eight! Seven! Six! Five!”

Malfoy smiled again. With one hand still entwined in hers, he lifted the other and ran it up the side of her face, up her neck, her cheek. Ginny sucked in a breath as his hand slipped around the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. Slowly, he drew her towards him, until they were so close that their noses were nearly touching.

“Four! Three! Two! One!”

And then shouts of “Happy New Year!” filled the air, but Ginny barely heard them. Her ears and her eyes, all her senses, every inch of her, was all for Malfoy.

“Happy New Year, Ginny,” he said, the words brushing her lips.

And he kissed her. Ginny’s eyes fell shut as his lips pressed against hers, lightly at first, as though he were savoring it, this first kiss, the feel of her lips against his, the warmth, the softness, the fragility. And then he deepened the kiss, and her lips parted beneath his, and now it was something fiercer, reckless, demanding. He kissed her like a man with a hole in his heart, he kissed her as though the touch of her lips against his were the only thing that could heal that hole.

His hand slid down her neck and back again, while the other clutched her wrist in his, as though he were afraid she would slip away if he didn’t hold her there. Ginny held her own hand to the side of his face, the side where he’d been hurt, and she cradled it there as though he were something precious beneath her fingertips, something brittle, something she needed to care for. She felt lost in his touch, overwhelmed by the feel of his hands on her skin, his tongue in her mouth, his lips moving against hers. And when the kiss finally ended, seconds or minutes or an eternity later, Ginny’s first breath came to her ragged and broken, as though she had forgotten how to breathe at all.

Malfoy’s eyes were dark, like a storm, a fierce, beautiful, raging storm. Still breathing shakily, Ginny rested her forehead against his. Her fingers trembled against his cheek.

“Happy New Year, Malfoy,” she whispered.


* * *


Ginny woke the next morning to a gentle probing at her shoulder. She opened her eyes slowly, and for a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was, or what had happened. Then she saw the other girls around her, most of them still snoring softly in their sleeping bags and blankets on the floor.

“Are you awake, Ginny?” Luna whispered. She stood leaning over Ginny, fully dressed again in her slightly rumpled, silver-sequined shirt.

“I am now.” Ginny sat up, yawning. The dim light of morning shone through the window in the corner. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten,” Luna said quietly. “I’m headed out. I just thought you should know, Draco is awake downstairs.”

“Oh.” Ginny came fully awake in an instant. “Er…how is he?”

Luna smiled. “He was puking in the loo when I came up here.”

“Oh, dear.” Ginny covered her mouth with one hand to hide her smile. “I suppose I should go check on him. See you later, Luna.”

“Bye, Ginny.”

Ginny picked her way out of the room carefully, trying not to step on anybody. A lot of people had spent the night at the house, rather than attempting to Apparate or Floo home drunk. Malfoy had fallen asleep on the sofa downstairs a little after midnight, and since Michael Corner’s sister has graciously set up a “girl’s room” for them all to sleep in, Ginny had opted to stay too, rather than leave Malfoy or try to Side-Along Apparate him home. That wouldn’t have been a good idea. He probably would have thrown up on her.

The house was relatively quiet downstairs, and a huge mess. A lot of people were still sleeping, passed out in chairs or corners or just on the floor. Others were quietly leaving, bleary-eyed and pasty from the night of partying. Empty cups, confetti, and remnants of poppers littered the house.

Ginny heard a few voices and soft laughter in the kitchen; it smelled like someone was making eggs in there. But she bypassed the kitchen and headed in the direction of the loo. She’d just reached it when the door swung open, and Malfoy came stumbling out. He looked terrible. His black t-shirt was horribly wrinkled, there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and a brilliant, purplish bruise covered half his face. His blond hair was rumpled too, a few pieces of it sticking up in the back. Ginny swallowed another smile and said, “You all right, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s gaze fixed on her a bit blearily at first, as though he wasn’t sure who she was, and then his gaze sharpened. “No, I am bloody not all right,” he groused, “and it’s entirely your fault!”

“My fault?” Ginny echoed, her tone mild. “I didn’t tell you to take shots for an hour.”

Draco groaned a little and shambled past her. “Where the bloody hell are my shoes?”

“Probably over by the fireplace,” Ginny suggested, following behind him.

Malfoy seemed to have some trouble getting his socks on; Ginny decided not to say anything when he put one of them on inside-out. She perched on the armrest of the sofa, watching him silently as he struggled. When he tried to put his shoe on the wrong foot, Ginny said, “Need some help with that, Malfoy?”

“No, I bloody don’t!” Draco snapped. “I’ve had enough help from you, thanks.”

Ginny’s temper flared a little. She was willing to cut him a little slack, given how horrible he must feel, but it really was not her fault that he’d gotten so drunk. “Fine,” she said coolly. “But it’s not my fault you got shit-faced, Malfoy, so don’t snap at me about it.”

“Not your fault?” Draco blinked owlishly at her, as though he were actually surprised to hear her say this. “Oh, really? Who was it that dragged me to this party in the first place? Even though I didn’t want to come—”

“For someone who didn’t want to come, you were having a good enough time of it last night!”

“Yeah, too good,” Draco muttered. He finally got his right shoe on, and started with the left. “And that was only because you disappeared for an hour straight, even though you know I didn’t know anyone here, or at least, not anyone that wants to talk to me—”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little?” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You found people to talk to last night.”

“Oh, right,” Draco said sarcastically. “Like your brother, and Potter. Yeah, chatting with them was a real treat. I have this lovely bruise now to show for it, even.”

Ginny felt a pang of sympathy for him at that, especially since Ron had probably punched him over her. She knew Draco said he might have deserved it, but anything he’d said didn’t warrant Ron hitting him. “I’m sorry about that,” she said quietly.

“Much good your apology does my face, Weasley.”

“You know what?” Ginny snapped. She straightened, coming to her feet. “I was going to offer to help you home, Malfoy, but you can find your own bloody way home. Good luck Apparating without vomiting again. Maybe I’ll Floo you later when you’re in a better mood.” She turned her back on him to head for the door.

“Don’t bother, Weasley,” Malfoy said darkly.

Ginny stopped, glaring at him over her shoulder. “Don’t bother with what?”

“Flooing me later,” he said shortly. As he finally got his other shoe on, he stood, casting his gaze around. “Now where the hell is my bloody shirt,” he mumbled.

Ginny turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you mean, don’t Floo you later?”

Malfoy sneered at her. “I mean, don’t Floo me later. What about that isn’t perfectly clear? I said it last night, didn’t I? We aren’t friends. Just because you thought you’d make me your pity case for the holidays doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Ginny blinked, completely taken aback by this onslaught. She tried to ignore the sliver of hurt worming through her as she tried to decide which part of this to address first. “I do remember you telling Hermione we aren’t friends, when we first arrived,” she said slowly. “Of course, I also remember you calling me your friend later on.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, his tone waspish. He wasn’t even looking at her, as he got down on his knees and peered under the sofa, presumably still in search of his shirt.

“When you were telling me that Luna was your friend,” Ginny said calmly. “You said you could have other friends beside me.”

“Yeah, well, I was completely pissed, wasn’t I?” he said irritably. “I don’t even remember that.”

“I see,” Ginny said numbly. She was not going to let this prat hurt her. She would not get upset over Malfoy. What did it matter, anyway? So Malfoy had kissed her at midnight. It was New Year’s Eve; it didn’t necessarily mean anything, and Malfoy was right—he had been extremely drunk. Maybe she was being stupid to think it meant anything. It was just a drunken New Year’s kiss, that was all.

Except that wasn’t all. She wasn’t an idiot, and she knew there was more to it than that. “So what do you remember then?” she blurted out, before she could stop herself. “Only, you said some other things, did some things—”

“You want to know what I remember, Weasley?” Looking as though every movement pained him, Malfoy got to his feet, using the sofa to help push him up. He still hadn’t found his oxford shirt. “I remember why I decided I needed to get properly trashed in the first place. I remember hearing you tell all your little friends that you felt sorry for me. Because I was lonely, or some such piffle like that. And that the only reason you were hanging around me was because you were lonely, too.”

Ginny felt stunned, as though he’d slapped her. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say, and when she didn’t say anything, Malfoy sneered and shook his head. “That’s what I thought. See you again never, Weasley.” He started to push past her.

“Hang on!” Ginny grabbed him by the arm, forcing him around to face her. “That is not what I said! I told them you deserved a second chance, that you’re a real person with real feelings, that’s what I told them! And if you took something else from it, well, then you’re a bloody idiot!”

“I don’t need your pity, Weasley!” Draco shook her off him, wrenching out of her grip. “All right? I’m perfectly fine on my own, thanks. As for anything else I said or did last night—”

“You mean like when you kissed me?” Ginny said bitterly.

Draco stared down at her. A part of her wanted to look away, no, run away, flee beneath that gray-eyed gaze to hide in a corner somewhere. But Ginny never ran from anything, and she certainly wasn’t going to run from this. So she returned his gaze boldly, lifting her chin a little in a defiant expression. And she wasn’t going to lose that expression, she wasn’t going to break down, no matter what he said.

“It didn’t mean anything, Weasley,” he said coldly. He didn’t drop his gaze either as he spoke, which somehow made it all worse. “Is that what this is all about? Well, too bad. Like I said, I was drunk out of my mind, and you knew that, so I don’t see why you’re so miffed about it now, seeing as you took advantage of me—”

“I took advantage of you?” Ginny spluttered. “Excuse me? You kissed me, you wanker!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t remember hearing any complaints from you,” he said snidely.

“And what else do you remember, then?” she asked quietly, her voice shaking with anger. “Do you remember when I asked you why you’re always coming to my rescue? Do you remember what you told me?”

For the first time, Draco’s icy mask of indifference wavered a little. It was the smallest thing, a tiny crack in his veneer, a hitch of his eyebrow, a tightening around his eyes, the faintest gleam of vulnerability. But then it was gone, and Ginny wondered if she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. “No,” he said, his voice stony. “I don’t remember. And if what I told you wasn’t this, Weasley, then it was a lie. Here’s the truth—anything I did for you at school, I did for my own reasons. My own selfish reasons. For me. Because I thought it would benefit me. I’m no hero, Weasley, and I don’t really care what happens to you. So, thanks but no thanks for the company the past couple weeks, and no, don’t bother Flooing me ever again.”

He was gone before Ginny could fully process everything he’d just said, across the room and out the front door like a whirlwind, stepping on some poor bloke’s hand as he went, and slamming the door shut behind him. And Ginny hated herself for it, but she was moving before she could stop herself, running after him, hurt and anger propelling her forward.

But when she yanked the front door open, he was gone. The steps and the walkway outside were empty, and the air was cold and unforgiving. Dead leaves blew in the harsh wind, and Ginny watched them, stunned, until someone inside barked at her to close the door and stop letting the cold in.

She shut the door slowly, then turned and leaned back again it, sliding down to the floor. She was not going to be hurt by Draco Malfoy, she was not going to shed any tears over him. But the tears were out before she could stop herself, and then she was crying like a bloody fool, and that was how Hermione found her, several minutes later, when she came down the stairs, still clad in her golden dress.

*******************

PART THREE: ROSES ARE RED


Draco resisted the urge to throw himself to the ground as he reached the bench where Pansy waited for him, stretching one leg out in front of her. His chest was heaving, his legs were burning, and his whole body was shaking, though whether from the cold or the exertion, he had no idea. “Bloody hell,” he moaned, coming to a staggering halt. He bent over, his hands on his knees, wondering if he was going to vomit.

Pansy smiled, straightening from her stretch. “See? I told you could do it! Two miles, on your first try!”

“You—actually—do this—for fun?” Draco panted, reaching a hand out to steady himself on the bench.

“I’m surprised you’re so winded,” Pansy said dryly. “You were quite athletic back in school. You’ve been getting flabby, Draco. Don’t you at least play Quidditch anymore? Maybe you should find a local league somewhere.”

Draco managed to lift his head, barely, just enough to send her a glare. “I am not flabby!”

Pansy stretched an arm back behind her head, looking him over critically. “Could’ve fooled me.” She most definitely was not flabby; in fact, she was looking fitter than ever, Draco noticed, in her black running tights and bright pink track jacket. It was all the running, he supposed. It was too bad that he didn’t look at Pansy in that way anymore, or he might’ve asked her out.

“Anyway, running is fun,” Pansy said loftily. “Just ask Ginny.”

Draco’s heart stuttered a little in his chest then, and it wasn’t because of the exertion. He snatched up Pansy’s water bottle from the bench and scowled, turning his back on her as he chugged down the ice cold water.

“Oh, dear.” Pansy’s tone was mild, but Draco recognized the snide edge beneath it. “Have I touched a nerve?”

Draco grunted. He’d told himself, quite firmly, that he really didn’t care what Ginny was up to these days. But more than a month had passed since the last time he’d seen her, and he found he was ridiculously eager for any piece of news of her. Like he was dying of thirst, and any word of Ginny was as good as a single drop of water, the only thing that could save him.

He silently chided himself for being so melodramatic. Striving for a casual tone, he said, “So, uh…when was the last time you saw her, then? Ginny.”

“A few days ago,” Pansy said dismissively. “Why?”

Draco scowled. “No reason.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“You know perfectly well when,” Draco growled.

Pansy shook her head. The look in her dark eyes was half-exasperated, half-pitying. “You could just apologize, you know. Well, it might be better if you got down on your hands and knees and apologized, considering the way you treated her—”

“Look, I wasn’t exactly in the best mood then, all right?” Draco snapped irritably.

Pansy smirked. She flicked her towel at him as they started down the street, out of the park and back onto the high street. “That’s not what Michael Corner told me.”

“I meant in the morning,” Draco said sourly. He frowned, rubbing at the back of his thigh. Merlin, he’d probably pulled a muscle. “After all…that.”

“By ‘all that,’ do you mean when you got completely wasted and started taking your clothes off with Ernie Macmillan?”

“There were other people playing too,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “And I did not take off nearly as much clothes as Macmillan did. Even pissed, I have more of a sense of decency than that tosser.”

Pansy giggled. “Ooh, I wish I had been there. I’ve been trying to find out if anyone took pictures, but no luck yet.” She sighed, getting a hold of herself. “Anyway. Look, Draco, I get that you were tired and hungover, but that’s no excuse for what you said to Ginny that morning. Especially if it wasn’t true.”

“Who said it wasn’t true?” Draco barked.

“Well, I hardly think you’d be mooning over her all this time later if it was,” Pansy said dryly. She paused as they passed a smoothie shop on the street, then motioned for him to follow her inside. Annoyed, Draco did so.

“Look, it’s too late, all right?” Draco frowned and leaned against the counter as Pansy ordered a strawberry banana smoothie. “It’s been more than a month since then, and anyway…I…” He ran a hand over his sweaty hair.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You what?”

“I don’t see what I could do to make her forgive me,” he said in a rush. He flinched as soon as he’d said it, unwilling to believe that he’d just admitted that out loud. He didn’t say the rest of it, though. What he was really afraid of. Not just that Ginny might not be able to forgive him, but that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted her to. He did feel badly for the things he’d said—he hated the idea that he’d hurt her. Especially after she’d been there for him, at Christmas, when no one else was.

But he was afraid of what might happen if she did forgive him. Of what that might mean. For the both of them. After all, wasn’t that why he’d said those things to begin with? To push her away?

“Look, Draco.” Pansy accepted her smoothie from the barrista and fixed him with a knowing gaze. “You have to talk to her. That’s all it comes down to. You have to talk to her, and tell her you’re sorry.” She paused. “Though an extra gesture wouldn’t hurt.”

Draco peered at her suspiciously. “What do you mean, an extra gesture?”

Pansy shrugged. “Well, Valentine’s Day is coming up. Do something romantic.”

“Something romantic?” Draco groaned. “Like what, for Merlin’s sake? The only thing I know about Ginny Weasley and Valentine’s Day is that she sent Potter some stupid love poem once. But given she was eleven years old at the time, I doubt she’s still into that kind of thing. I mean, does Ginny strike you as the mushy-gushy, romantic type?”

“I don’t know,” Pansy mused. “You’d be surprised. A lot of girls who aren’t necessarily into that sort of thing can get sentimental around Valentine’s Day. I might have a few ideas for you.” She paused. “A gift couldn’t hurt, either.”


* * *


Ginny let out a long sigh as she unlocked the door to her flat and stepped inside. She felt as though she’d had a long day at work, even though she’d left early, and it wasn’t yet four o’clock. Still, it had been a long day, given that it was a Monday and also, Valentine’s Day.

She had completely forgotten about Valentine’s Day until she arrived in Diagon Alley this morning and was met by pink frippery, flowers, hearts, and candy in every window of every shop. Horrified and dismayed, she’d quickly disappeared into her office and hadn’t left all day, not even for her break or her lunch.

Ginny hadn’t really been much for Valentine’s Day in recent years. Ever since her sixth year at Hogwarts, ever since the hellish year. The three years previous to that, she’d had really nice Valentine’s Days, the first two with Michael Corner and the third with Dean.

But sixth year, she spent Valentine’s Day huddled in her dormitory, trying to forget the events of the previous day—what had possibly been one of the worst days of her life. Ever since then, she couldn’t seem to summon the enthusiasm she’d had for the holiday. She tried to ignore it, as best as possible. Which was only too easy to do this year, since it was the first year since sixth year that she didn’t have a date.

She intended to spend the rest of her day thoroughly pampering herself, first with a long, hot bubble bath, followed by a big pasta dinner and a glass of wine. But when she entered her small flat, she was met by a long, thin gift box sitting on her bed.

Ginny frowned, approaching the box warily, as though it might contain something dangerous and explosive. She had received such gifts from her brothers before, so it wasn’t a totally paranoid reaction. Still, she thought, it wasn’t likely that her brothers would send her a package wrapped all in pink, with a huge, red bow wrapped around it.

Ginny picked up the package—a bit awkwardly, given its size and length—and looked for a card, but there was none. Her curiosity finally overcame her caution, and she sat down on her bed, pulled the package across her lap, and tore the paper off.

The long box beneath the paper read Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Ginny’s eyes widened. “It can’t be,” she whispered. Furiously, she pulled at the packaging tape on the box and yanked it open.

It was the Nimbus 2010. The Nimbus 2010. Ginny gaped, making a rather weird, shrill, undignified sound in her throat, something halfway between a whimper and a shriek. She lay the open box flat out on her bed as she slipped onto the floor, kneeling, gazing at the broomstick reverently. She was almost afraid to touch it. Her hands hovered over it, her fingers twitching as she took in every inch of it—the golden-brown handle, the bronze-gilded foot grips and, written across the handle in silver lettering, the name Nimbus 2010.

When she finally got a grip on herself and lifted the broomstick out of the box, barely containing a girlish squeal, a small scrap of parchment floated out from the box. Ginny very carefully set the broomstick on her bed, as though it were a baby, and bent to pick up the parchment. It was the card she’d been looking for earlier, on the outside of the package. It read:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I hope that you like
The gift of this broom

Happy Valentine’s Day,
Draco

Ginny stared at the note, nonplussed. “What the fuck is this,” she said dumbly. “That doesn’t even rhyme!” Her eyes widened as she got past the ridiculousness of the poem and realized what she was looking at. This note was from Draco. The broomstick was from Draco. Draco Malfoy had bought her a broomstick worth hundreds of Galleons. For Valentine’s Day.

Perhaps she should have been touched by this sentiment. Perhaps, in spite of the horrid way he had treated her at New Year’s, she should have been moved that he had made such a gesture, obviously to try and make things up with her. But as she stared at the note in her hand and read the dumb poem over and over again, Ginny felt her ire rising. Who did he think he was, to think he could just buy her forgiveness? A broomstick and a stupid note, and that was all? Furious, Ginny marched over to her fireplace. After starting a fire in the grate with her wand, she took a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the flames, and shouted, “Malfoy Manor!”

When the familiar drawing room came into view, there was no one there. “Malfoy!” Ginny hollered. “Malfoy, are you there? Get over here this instant, you heartless git! I want a word!” She waited impatiently for a second or two, then tried again. “Oi! I know you’re there, you stupid prick! I got your stupid gift and if you don’t get over here right this instant, I’m going to—”

“Excuse me?” a refined, female voice said in answer. “You’re going to what?” The voice was followed by the form of a blond, elegant woman who stepped into view through the fireplace. Ginny recognized her.

It was Narcissa Malfoy. Draco’s mother.

Ginny swallowed, mortified. Her cheeks were burning. After spending that time with Malfoy at his manor over Christmas, she’d practically forgotten that his mother lived there too, when she wasn’t on holiday. “Oh, erm, hello, Mrs.—Mrs. Malfoy,” Ginny said faintly.

“Who are you?” Narcissa asked coldly. “And what do you want?”

“Well, erm.” Ginny cleared her throat. “My name is Ginny Weasley and, I, er, wanted a word. With Malf—with Draco, I mean. He, er, sent me a Valentine’s gift and I wanted to…thank him,” she ended lamely.

Narcissa eyed her impassively. Ginny could not say at all what the woman was thinking, though she did note a hitch in the woman’s eyebrow, perhaps the slightest hint that she was surprised. Draco made the same expression, sometimes, when he was surprised. “You wanted to thank him,” Narcissa echoed. “I see. Is that why you were calling him a heartless git and—what was it—a stupid prick?”

“Oh, well…” Ginny’s face was so hot, she was sure it was going to burn right off. She placed one hand on her cheek to make sure it hadn’t caught fire. “Well, I mean, I…just wanted to…talk to him. About it. About the gift, I mean.”

“So I gathered,” Narcissa said curtly. “He’s not here. Shall I have him contact you when he gets home?”

Wishing she could sink into the carpet, Ginny said weakly, “Erm, yes. Please. Thank you.” She glanced back at the broomstick on her bed. “I think he has my address.”

She had never been more grateful to end a conversation when the manor winked out of sight and the green flames in her fireplace died down.

She was too riled up to take her bath, so she went ahead and fixed her pasta dinner, even though it was a bit early. She downed a glass of wine while she cooked, and had just poured herself a second one to accompany her dinner when her fireplace burst into life behind her. She came out of the small kitchen, her plate of pasta and wine glass in hand, just as Draco Malfoy stepped out of the fireplace and into her flat, brushing ash off his robes. He took one look at Ginny and said, “Really, Weasley, I’m sure you’re grateful for the gift, but you didn’t have to fix me dinner.”

Ginny resisted the urge to throw the plate and wineglass at him and said, “What the hell are you doing here?” She was rather proud at how calm and controlled her voice came out.

Draco frowned. “My mother said you wanted to see me.”

“I wanted you to Floo me,” Ginny said through gritted teeth. She put her drink and her dinner aside on the table. “I didn’t want you to come here.”

Draco took a few steps towards her. “But I was going to come here anyway,” he said in a low voice, “to see if you liked my gift.”

Ginny rounded on him. “Liked it? Liked it? What do you think, you idiot? You think you can buy my forgiveness? You think you can say the awful things you said to me on New Year’s, and then just waltz back into my life six weeks later with a stupid broomstick, just like that?”

Draco looked from her to the broomstick, his expression mild. “So you didn’t like it,” he surmised. “Perhaps I should just return it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ginny said hastily, stepping between him and the broomstick as though he were some fiend, come to kidnap her puppy.

Draco smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Ginny sighed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Look, of course I liked it. It’s the best broomstick on the market right now, and it’s just about the best present I could have received, since I plan on going out for the Harpies in the spring. But of course, I’m sure you knew that, didn’t you,” she accused. “Been talking to Pansy, lately?”

Draco coughed. “She might’ve said something.” Then he frowned. “But it wasn’t all her. I know you, Ginny. I know enough about you to know you were going to like the gift.”

“If you knew I was going to like it,” Ginny said sarcastically, “then why come to ask if I like it?”

“Because that’s not the real reason I came.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and dropped his gaze. “And you know it.”

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. He cut a very nice figure in his dark blue robes and black slacks. He’d grown his hair out a bit since she’d seen him last; it was just on the verge of being too long, a stray strand falling in front of his eyes when he bent his head. She remembered the feel of his hair, soft and smooth, brushing her fingertips as he’d kissed her, with her hand on his face.

She took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her voice was not as steady as she would have liked. “Apparently, I don’t know much about you at all, Malfoy,” she said. “Not as much as I thought I did, anyway.”

“Look, I didn’t mean all that, all right?” he said, his tone petulant. He scowled, but his cheeks had gone a bit pink. “Not really. I was tired and hungover, and—I’m—sorry.” He practically choked on the words. He swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “That’s what I came to say. I’m sorry.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, daring a glance up at her.

“You didn’t mean any of it?” Ginny heard the faintly accusatory note in her voice, and did not try to moderate it. “Are you sure about that?”

Draco sighed, sounding a little exasperated. He marched across the room, coming to stand by her small table. “May I?” he asked politely, indicating one of the chairs.

Ginny shrugged a shoulder in assent.

He shrugged out of his robe and hung it over the back of the chair before pulling it out to sit at the table. He glanced at her, as though waiting for her to sit too, but Ginny wasn’t going to sit with him. After a moment’s silence, he said bluntly, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wish I hadn’t. But I wasn’t lying when I said that anything I did for you, I did for myself. For my own selfish reasons.”

Ginny fiddled with the edges of her little cardigan, pulling it more tightly around her. “That night—you said you helped me because—” Her breath hitched in her throat. “You said when you saw me hurt… you hurt.”

Draco cleared his throat. “Also not a lie,” he said softly.

“Well, which is it, Malfoy?” Ginny demanded. “Both of those things can’t be true.”

“Of course they can,” he snapped back. “When I see you hurt, I hurt. If I helped you, it was only to make myself feel better, to stop my pain.”

Ginny shook her head, not really understanding. “That is so mixed up.”

Draco looked frustrated. “Look—let me start from the beginning, all right? Will you just—let me explain, let me tell it all, without interrupting? You’ve asked me why I helped you, and I want to explain, but—” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “There is no easy answer. All right?”

Ginny considered this. She bit her lip. She supposed it was only fair, because she had asked. There was a part of her that was a little afraid to hear the answer now, because it might hurt again, to hear his answer. But she nodded slowly. “All right.”

Draco inhaled deeply. “Do you know when I first began to notice you?” he asked. “I mean, really, really noticed you. When I first realized you had a name besides ‘the Weasley girl.’”

“No,” Ginny said flatly. “When?”

“Fifth year,” he said. “Fourth year, for you.”

“Let me guess,” Ginny said dryly, a little annoyed that it had taken him four years to learn her name. “When I cast the Bat-Bogey Hex on you in Umbridge’s office.”

“No, of course not.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Before that. When you beat out Cho Chang in the last Quidditch match of the season, and won Gryffindor the House Cup that year.”

Ginny stared at him. “You started noticing me when I beat Cho Chang?”

“Well, I guess I really started noticing you in the match before, when you beat Summerby, playing against Hufflepuff,” he conceded, “but I really noticed you after that match against Ravenclaw. It was supposed to be your stupid brother’s big loss, being the god-awful Keeper that he was—”

“This is you apologizing?” Ginny muttered under her breath.

“—and it was going to be glorious. Only you won the game, and then Gryffindor won the whole cup, again, even though Potter and your other brothers had been kicked off the team. It was all ruined,” he grumbled. “All because of you.”

Ginny goggled at him. “You were that upset about me catching the Snitch? Are you serious? Sweet Circe, what must your life be like, Malfoy?”

“Well, back then,” he said quietly, “it was rather nice and simple. So yeah, I noticed you then, and I was angry, and I learned your name just so I could focus on hating you personally. Every time I saw you, the whole rest of that year, I hated you. I hated your stupid red hair and your stupid freckle-face and your stupid laugh. And when you did cast that Bat-Bogey Hex on me, it just made me hate you ten times more.”

“Well, wonderful,” Ginny said angrily. “You hate me and everything about me. Good to know.”

“You said you’d let me tell it all,” Draco snapped, glaring.

Ginny sighed. “Go on, then.”

He glared at her once more, as though for good measure, and then sighed. “Anyway,” he said, “everything changed that summer.” He dropped his gaze and began fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. “Everything that had been nice and simple—well, it wasn’t nice and simple anymore. My dad went to prison—” His voice turned a little hoarse, and he cleared his throat “—and the Dark Lord started coming ‘round our house. And I—I took the Dark Mark and accepted a mission from him.” He said this all very quickly, and he stared at the table as he said it.

Ginny swallowed. “Right.” She knew all that, of course. It wasn’t news to her. But she still felt slightly stunned hearing it, at the reminder, of everything that had happened then, everything he had done.

“And I hated it,” he said bluntly. “For all that I bragged to everyone how great it was, that the Dark Lord had given me a chance… I just wanted things to go back to normal, Ginny. How things used to be, before—before my father went to prison. Before the Dark Lord returned. And… in the—I don’t know, the darkest moments that summer—when I was most scared or angry—I thought of you. I thought of how I hated you,” he added quickly. Then he sighed. “But…by the time I went back to school that year, it really wasn’t like that anymore. You had become… I thought of you when I afraid, or sad. You had become a sort of comfort to me, I guess.” He looked up at her, and for a moment, he looked like the vulnerable teenager he was describing. “Does that make sense?” he asked, a desperate catch to his voice.

Ginny nodded wordlessly, but the gesture felt mechnical, as though she didn’t really realize she was doing it. She felt numb inside, numb with shock. Truthfully, she had never thought much about Malfoy in school, not before her sixth year, anyway. So it was a shock to learn that he’d thought of her this way, that he’d thought of her so often, for months before she’d ever really thought much about him. And not just that he’d thought of her, but that she’d had such an impact on him, all without ever knowing it. It was difficult to process.

“Anyway.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, tousling it a little. “That only continued all through sixth year. I’d wake up in the morning, terrified, hardly having slept for nightmares. I’d wake up, and think that I couldn’t do it anymore. That I couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t go on trying to figure out how to get outsiders into the school. I didn’t even know how I could make it through the day.” He shrugged. “But then I’d see you, at breakfast, or in the hall, and… for a moment, I could forget about it all. For that moment, I could pretend it all wasn’t happening.”

Slowly, Ginny sank into the chair beside him. She felt so torn up, unsure how to feel about any of this. She couldn’t suppress a tiny prickle of…horror…at first. To think that she had helped Malfoy when he was trying to get Death Eaters into the school, even if she didn’t know it, even if it was only to make him feel better… Dumbledore had died because of what Malfoy had done that year; Bill had been scarred for life.

But she’d decided long ago not to hold that against him—had decided that, in fact, because of things Harry had told her, about Malfoy, that night. In the end, he hadn’t been able to kill Dumbledore, and he’d been terrified that his family would all be killed if he failed Voldemort.

So in the end… if the thought of her had helped him get through the day… she supposed there really had been no harm in it. She still could not quite fathom it, that the mere sight of her could have helped him. Feeling a little unsteady, she folded her hands tightly in her lap, afraid she might reach out and touch him otherwise.

“So when we came back seventh year, when the Dark Lord was in charge… that first time.” He met Ginny’s gaze, and she knew exactly what he meant by that first time. His eyes smoldered with anger. “When I came by Crabbe using the Cruciatus Curse on you in the corridor, for no reason… just because he thought it was funny…” He clenched his jaw, an ugly expression on his face. “Ginny, I can’t describe to you what I felt when I saw you in pain like that. I remember feeling so horrified that you weren’t screaming, I couldn’t understand why you weren’t screaming—”

Ginny closed her eyes, trying not to recall the pain. It had been more than she thought she could endure, but her determination not to scream had been all that had fueled her, all that had kept her alive, it felt like. She opened her eyes then and said, “So you stopped him.” She swallowed. “I remember I wasn’t sure if you really meant to. You said you were just impatient to get to Hogsmeade, but I was just the slightest bit suspicious—because of the way you looked at me.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know for sure until the second time. When Vaisey turned me in for setting that suit of armor on Carrow, and Snape called you in…” She trailed off, thinking back on it. Draco had been there; he’d seen it all. He knew she’d done it, and she knew he knew. “But when Snape asked you if it was me… you lied.”

“There’d been talk about getting rid of you.” Draco flexed and unflexed his fingers. “Having you expelled, and who even knows what that would have meant, that year… I knew it couldn’t be good. But more importantly, Ginny…” He shook his head. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving. Of you not being there.” His voice hitched. “You were still the only thing that made me feel anything good at all. I didn’t want you to leave.”

Ginny nodded slowly, beginning to understand. This was why he said he’d done it for himself, for selfish reasons. Because in his mind, he’d done it all so that he could keep her, so that he wouldn’t lose the one thing that had kept him going. Maybe that idea should have repelled Ginny, but strangely, it had the opposite effect. She felt a rush of sympathy for him, coupled with the gratitude she’d never been able to explain, yet never could quite bury, either. How could she hold any of his reasons against him, when she considered what he’d done for her?

“So of course I hid you when you snuck out that night and tried to come talk to me,” Draco went on, his tone a little bitter, “so the Carrows wouldn’t catch you out of your dormitory at night. And then—” He broke off, his eyes darting to her for half a second before he dropped his gaze awkwardly. “Well, then—you know.”

“The last time,” Ginny said softly. “When Harper and Vaisey cornered me and dragged me into that empty classroom.”

Draco drew a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he said, and she could hear suppressed anger in his voice. “Yeah, that.”

“It’s all right,” Ginny said. She was a little surprised how calm and steady her voice was. She hadn’t ever talked about this with anyone, told anyone. “You can talk about it. Nothing happened, anyway. Thanks to you.” She did reach out now, and laid her hand over his. “They didn’t hurt me.”

Draco made a disparaging noise, low in his throat. “You arm was all bruised up—”

“Please.” Ginny shook her head. “You know a few bruises are nothing compared to what they would have done to me. What they wanted to do to me.” She dropped her hand and sat back a little, watching him. “Malfoy…you can say all you want that you rescued me for your own selfish reasons. And I have been curious, I have been wanting to know why—in fact, it’s been driving me crazy. All this time. But in the end…it doesn’t really matter. I don’t care why. All I care about is that you did rescue me. That last time, you rescued me from something really, really horrible.”

“Because I would have killed those filthy pigs, Ginny!” He lurched to his feet so suddenly and violently that he knocked over his chair. “Because you were mine, my one thing, my one person. The only person at that whole school I cared anything about. And if they’d done what they meant to do, I would have killed them! That’s why I did it, okay? All of it, every time. It was only because I couldn’t bear it if you were gone, if you were hurt, if you were broken. But I’m not some bloody white knight in shining armor, and I never will be!”

Ginny rose too, anger sparking within her. “Do you really think that’s what I want, Draco? If I wanted a hero, if I needed a knight in shining armor, I would have stuck with Harry! But I didn’t, because I don’t want that, and I certainly don’t need it.”

“Right.” Draco laughed hollowly, but he looked at her with an appreciative gleam in his eye. “No, you don’t. Because you’ve always got everything handled, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Ginny felt the hint of a smile twitching at her lips, and she ducked her head sheepishly for a moment. “Yes, I do.” She raised her head as she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She reached up and took the collar of his shirt in her hands, in a gesture of reassurance. “That’s why I don’t need a hero, Draco. I just need…” She shrugged a shoulder. “Someone to get me out of trouble, now and then.”

He gazed down at her, his expression a little disbelieving. “And you want that person to be me?” he asked, his voice deep in his throat.

“Sure.” Ginny smiled. “You’ve done a pretty good job of it the past couple of years. So why not you?” Her grip on his collar tightened. “Unless you think you’re not up to the task.” She said this lightly, but she felt the true weight of it, as it hung in the air between them, this request, this challenge. The seconds that passed then felt like eons, and Ginny forced herself to keep her gaze locked on his, waiting for his response.

Uncertainty filled Draco’s gray eyes, uncertainty and doubt. But then he swallowed, and breathed in deeply, and slowly, painstakingly, the doubt faded into resolve. “Oh,” he said, and he also seemed to be striving for a light tone, “I think I’m up to it. I am a Malfoy, after all.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “How could I forget?”

Draco placed his hands on her arms tentatively, as though he were afraid she would break away. But she stood fast, her hands slipping up from his collar and around the back of his neck, where she interlaced her fingers, locking him within the circle of her arms.

“Ginny,” Draco said, “I am sorry. I never wanted to be the one that hurt you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s all right. I forgive you.” Her grip around him tightened, and she narrowed her eyes. “But do it again, you tosser, and I’ll kick you to the curb.”

A familiar smirk came across his face. “Noted.” He bent his head, resting his forehead against hers. “I didn’t only come here to apologize, you know,” he said, with a mischievous tone in his voice. “I came to ask you something else as well.”

“You already asked if I liked your gift,” she reminded him.

“Consider this a follow-up question, then.” His hands slid down her arms, until they came to rest low on her waist. “Will you be my Valentine, Ginny Weasley?”

Ginny tried to suppress the ridiculous delight she took in hearing this from him. “I can’t,” Ginny protested, her voice teasing. “I’m determined to stay in for Valentine’s Day, you see.”

His hands found their way beneath her cardigan, and she could feel the heat of his touch through her thin camisole. Slowly, he ran his hands up her back. “Staying in sounds perfect to me,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Especially since you already made dinner and all. Can we have dessert first, though?”

Ginny felt a warm thrill run through her, and she leaned in, pressing herself up against him. “Draco Malfoy,” she said, her words little more than a whisper, “that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.”

Draco grinned devilishly in response, and hoisted her up into his arms. Then he kissed her fiercely, as though he had hungered for another kiss from her all these weeks, as Ginny had hungered for him. And as he carried her back to her bed, Ginny thought, with some satisfaction, that it turned out, for the fourth year in a row, that she did have a date this Valentine’s Day after all.


THE END