Chapter One: Two Faced Monsters

It looked like we were photographed at gunpoint so I had to laugh.

Why had she come here? Hadn't she known what it would be like?

She stood to one side of the elegantly decorated ballroom, sipping from her flute of Champagne as the richly dressed couples danced and conversed. Everyone looked beautiful, dressed as they all were in their best. The buzz of superficial conversation provided a pleasant backdrop to the subdued string arrangements that inevitably played at the gatherings of the rich.

In these settings she was rarely hounded for autographs, rarely asked to sign someone's lucky jersey, but years of international Quidditch star status had taught Ginny to keep to the periphery and near an exit when in public.

Now standing out of the way as best she could, Ginny nodded and smiled, and armed herself with forbearance when accepting the clearly fake smile and words of greeting of many a socialite as they approached her to compliment her on her dress, her skin, her make-up. "Ginev-rah!" they would drawl, kissing the air over both of her cheeks. The men were no better; their demeanors were more subdued than those of their wives, but their eyes were more inquisitive, more probing. But hadn't she known it would be so, and hadn't she made sure to look her best?

Really, what had possessed her to come here, she again wondered. But then she spotted the happy groom at the center of a group at the far end of the room, his face alight with obvious happiness. That was why. She couldn't fail him, and so she had come.

"Ginevra, darling!" someone called from her left.

Ginny smiled and waved, secretly praying that they wouldn't come over to fake-fawn over her and to question her. She realized that she disliked most of these people and yet she knew them all by name. This had been her own social circle at one time, not so long ago. Had she always resented their insincerity wrapped in exquisite manners? Their mouths were smiling but their eyes were cold as painted glass, like the depthless eyes on the faces of dolls. Was there a pulse beating under that perfect skin?

What a hypocrite I am, she thought suddenly. Because Ginny didn't need to check her reflection to know that she wasn't out of place here - she fit the part. Somewhere along the way, she had learned to look like them.

He cast a languid look about him as he drank from his glass of Firewhisky on the rocks. Always the same people, the same faces at these gatherings. He knew that, and yet his eyes continued to scan through the familiar blending of faces, searching for – what?

"Draco." Astoria's melodic voice had a tinge of impatience to it which indicated she had most likely been trying to capture his attention without success for some time.

"Yes, love?" he turned his full attention to her now, giving her a small kiss on the cheek; she smiled indulgently, but Draco knew she hated these little lapses. Lately he found his mind wandering more and more, slipping away into meaningless abstractions.

"I said," she began patiently, "did your secretary send in that gift for Camille?"

"Hmm. Did she, indeed?" Draco replied, sounding thoughtful.

Astoria rolled her eyes. "I do hope you're joking. Can you imagine if she didn't? What will Camille think of us, showing up to her wedding without sending a gift?"

"That we're worthless villains, a pair of cheap scoundrels?" Draco supplied, his fingers massaging the curve of the girl's slender waist. "That we came to her wedding, drank all of her wine, ate her cake and left without sending a gift, like a pair of savages?" Draco arched a fine eyebrow and then laughed when she swatted at him gracefully with her hand, where a large diamond glittered against her milky white skin. "Yes, she sent the gift," he whispered against her temple before pecking it with a quick kiss.

"Draco, you're insufferable," Astoria informed him, but she was smiling.

He allowed her to drag him over for a dance and placed his hands where they ought to be quite mechanically, although not without his characteristic and effortless sort of grace.

They swayed side to side gently, Astoria resting her chin on his shoulder and sighing contentedly as they danced. The restlessness Draco had been feeling gradually began to wear away, but his eyes continued to dart about the ballroom, searching for he didn't know what.

And then, quite suddenly, Draco's eyes fastened on a sight which was entirely unexpected and which struck him as implacably as a bolt of lightning would have. There, in stark contrast with the white pillar against which she lounged, a woman's vibrant red hair captured the light and glowed softly.

"And then I said, 'Not on my marble floors, you rascal! Use the newspapers I've laid out, or you'll get it!' Gregory says Tito is the worst dog we've had, but I think he's got spunk, that one does!"

Ginny struggled to keep her attention focused on this riveting story, but found her eyes were glazing over. Merlin's pants, but Rita Goyle could talk!

The redhead wondered vaguely how Gregory could stand this day in and day out. His wife was a well meaning woman and not at all unpleasant, but she could bore one to death with her incessant chatter. Unfortunately by the time Rita had exhausted every detail of hers and Gregory's and even their dog's life, she began asking Ginny more and more questions – this the redhead dreaded more than stories of Tito the Chihuahua.

"And you look so beautiful, Ginevra! You look breathtaking, really! Are there any particular spells you recommend for the skin? But do tell, how are things with that dashing French Quidditch captain whose name I can't pronounce? I read all about it in Witch Weekly, so don't even bother denying it!"

Ginny was down to her fourth flute of Champagne and her third retelling of Why I Decided to Retire at the Height of My Quidditch Career to Focus on Muggle-Style Photography Instead, and Yes, I Actually Enjoy the Single Life, Thank You Very Much, when she felt the intensity of someone's gaze burn her bare shoulder as if she had been physically touched by it.

She turned her head and her eyes clashed against a pair of silvery gray ones. So struck was she that she was unable to move, rendering her facial muscles incapable of reflecting the shock she felt at the sight of those eyes and their owner.

For one wild, panic stricken moment Ginny found herself praying that the ground would open up and swallow her.

"Ginevra? Ginevra! Can you hear me?" Rita Goyle was saying, and then she turned to follow the line of Ginny's gaze and noticed the inevitable approach of the Malfoy heir. "Oh, and here comes Draco! We thought he'd be in Italy celebrating, but you see, he made it after all! I'll go find Gregory!" she exclaimed, clapping her chubby hands together delightedly and then waving at the blond before disappearing.

No! Don't leave, you little fool! Ginny thought desperately, casting her approaching tormentor a veiled look.

As she watched him saunter up to her in his beautifully cut dark robes, his fair hair slicked back to reveal a somewhat patrician hint of a widow's peak on the high, smooth forehead, Ginny resigned herself to her fate; she almost found a small scrap of comfort in it; here, at least, was one who would not fawn.

She noted that his hair was slightly longish and he was handsome as ever – but she hadn't expected differently. The fine features of his face were carefully devoid of expression, but she didn't miss the way the cool gray eyes quickly took in her appearance, everything from the tips of her shoes just visible under the hem of her dress robes, the curve of her waist, to her bare, slightly tensed shoulders, the sparse make-up, the stylishly messy bun in her hair.

She bore the intensity of his deceptively casual glance with apparent nonchalance, but her heart, traitor that it was, galloped almost painfully in her chest, and when his eyes met hers she feared her knees would knock into each other.

Fair and gray-eyed, with features that strongly reminisced of Narcissa nee Black's legendary beauty, Draco Malfoy could almost pass for angelic. Until he inevitably spoke.

"Miss Weasley…" he drawled in his deep, silky voice for all greeting, making her name sound like a secret insult somehow.

She arranged her lips into a fake little smile and nodded graciously in turn. "Mr. Malfoy."

He answered her smile with an amused smirk, but his pale eyes remained cold as ever; they followed the dancing couples for a moment before flicking to her again. "You're looking quite stunning," he remarked casually. "It's a – ah, shall we say, pleasant – surprise to find you here. We all know how much you hate these parties…"

"Yes, well. Blaise is a dear friend," she said simply. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Yes? How good of you. I'm sure Blaise and his bride appreciate the gesture," Draco said pleasantly, and she found she could no longer gauge his level of sarcasm without looking at his face, which was once again turned towards the dance floor. "But it must be quite trying for you to bear with us all."

"It certainly is," Ginny agreed without hesitation. "But as I said, anything for Blaise. I understand you yourself, Mr. Malfoy, cut short some kind of holiday in order to be here tonight. No one at all expected you…" I know I certainly didn't.

"Indeed," Draco replied, and then promptly changed the subject. "I do wonder at your date, Miss Weasley - leaving you unattended for all this time…"

"I'm sure your date must be feeling the same way," she said lightly, refusing to answer his underlying query.

Yes, I've come alone, you bastard.

They locked eyes for a moment, and met with twin pools of grey - impenetrable and cold as Draco Malfoy himself was - Ginny cursed herself for the way her heart was pounding, fluttering against her ribs like a caged bird.

"How's Lucius?" she inquired absently, adjusting the catch of her bracelet.

"Fine," Draco replied, turning his attention once again towards the dance floor. "Lucius is always fine, isn't he?"

Ginny caught the guarded note in Draco's voice and understood that she had guessed correctly – the tensions between father and son hadn't ceased to be a sore topic with the Malfoy heir. "Is he about?" Ginny made it a point to glance around over Draco's shoulder, as if she expected to find Lucius Malfoy standing there.

"No, he's not about." Draco snorted. "You know he hates people."

"If by 'people' you mean most of your friends, I would say you're correct," Ginny replied, smiling benignly. "Otherwise I find him absolutely charming. I miss our discussions. Perhaps I should owl him…"

Draco appeared as if he couldn't be bothered to even make a reply, but the new tension around his mouth, visible as he presented her with her his arrogant, chiseled profile, did not escape Ginny. It was no secret to her that Draco had not had a real conversation with his father since the end of the war. That her poisoned little arrow had hit home would have gone unnoticed by anyone else but was quite evident to Ginny; she was filled with a perverse sort of satisfaction, immediately followed by a burst of shame.

How easily could she become that foul harpy when it came to one she had loved beyond all else. How ironic that he and only he could invariably bring out the worst in her character, she reflected.

"I'll be sure to send your love the next time I see him," Draco was saying now, obviously composed. "I'm sure he misses you, as well. I'm sorry that I can't say the same for Mother."

Ginny had the grace to blush.

In that moment they were joined by a glowing Camille Rosier, now Zabini – Blaise's new bride. Both of their faces instantly relaxed, Draco's lips, which had been an implacable straight line seconds earlier, curving slightly upwards as he greeted the new bride.

"Congratulations, cousin," he said smoothly, kissing her on both cheeks.

For her part Ginny smiled brightly, squeezing the bride's hands warmly in hers. "Congratulations, Camille."

"And how are you two enjoying yourselves?" Camille inquired, giving them a dazzling smile even as her anxious eyes went from Ginny to Draco.

"Smashingly," the blond said quietly, his lips twisting into a faint smile.

"It's a lovely ball," Ginny murmured, watching nervously as a member of the army of photographers trailing after the bride approached them.

"All together for the picture!" he commanded, and as the three crowded in and Draco's hand rested against the small of her back, Ginny felt an electric shiver course down her spine. Her smile never faltered as the flash blinded her, as Draco and Camille's faces pressed against hers, as his hand lifted from her back and he drew away.

"I hope you'll dance, won't you?" Camille was saying.

"As soon as I can persuade Ginevra to dance with me," Draco replied, glancing at Ginny in quite pointed askance.

"I don't think you shall, Draco. But it's no matter. We've got so much catching up to do, don't we?" Ginny gave his arm a halfhearted pat.

Draco's answering smile was full of irony, but he said nothing.

"Suit yourselves, but have fun!" Camille gave them one last anxious yet radiant smile as she wandered on to the next group. "Oh, and Ginny, I love your dress!" she added, her eyes roving up and down the redhead's Quidditch toned figure as only another woman's eyes could.

Ginny frowned, wondering if she'd made a mistake by wearing the burgundy colored silk taffeta robes; she'd made sure the cut was somewhat understated, but the color was too dramatic perhaps.

"Not trying to outshine the bride, are we?" Draco murmured, once the bride in question was out of earshot.

Ginny turned to glare at him. How typical of him to unerringly read her insecurities and zero in on them.

He returned her gaze, his amused little smirk still firmly in place, his eyes cold as ever, unreadable.

"As soon as I can persuade her," Ginny muttered, mimicking his well-bred, haughty accents. "As if you'd asked."

"As if you would," he shot back. His face was still averted, but he'd dropped the sarcastic formality he'd been addressing her with, and for once his tone sounded neutral.

"Yes," Ginny conceded, "but now I look like a grumpy old shrew who won't dance."

"Then your true colors have come out at last," Draco retorted, smiling and nodding at Blaise's stepfather as he walked by them, and Ginny hastened to do the same.

"And did I mention I love that fake little smile you give everyone, Ginevra?" Draco continued, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. "It's fantastic."

"I learned from the best, Draco." She used his same disdainful inflection demonstratively.

He snorted indelicately for all response.

"Congratulations on your engagement to Astoria," she said then, quietly and quite suddenly, without having decided to. "She's a wonderful girl. I do hope… I hope you have better luck this time."

They regarded each other in silence for a moment, and it was Draco who turned away this time. His next question caught her by surprise.

"How is Henry?"

"He's fine," Ginny said, after a moment. "A handful." He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, mouth curved up on the right with amusement, and her expression softened. "You know, you should visit him some time."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Draco said carefully, his voice low. "You know what happened last time I – "

Ginny exhaled sharply and turned to glare at him, cheeks blazing with anger and shame that he'd interpreted her comment as some sort of invitation. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy."

"That's not what I meant, Ginevra," he said sternly, but his lips curved into the smallest of smirks. "I meant that when I was last there we quarreled, like always. We were at each other's throats the entire time, one way or another…"

Her blush deepened, spreading down her face to her slender neck. "Fine then," she snapped, turning away. "Don't visit him. But don't ask me about him either, as if you cared."

The blond man exhaled air in what could have been a scoff or a sigh before tossing back the rest of his Champagne.

"Ah, it's the Malfoys," a cracked and ancient voice said loudly beside them. Draco and Ginny turned to find Audrina Rosier, one of Draco's elderly aunts, staring up at them from behind rheumy blue eyes.

"Hello, Aunt Audrina! But this is Ginevra Weasley now," Draco said loudly into the old witch's good ear. "We've divorced, remember?"

"Dee-WHAT?" the witch demanded, just as loudly.

"DIVORCED!" Draco replied. "We've broken our marriage contract. It's been nearly two years now, hasn't it?"

"Broken the marriage contract?" the witch replied, sounding mystified – just as she had when she'd first learned the news years before.

"Yes, yes. We couldn't stand each other so we parted ways. Two years ago."

Ginny snorted humorlessly into her Champagne flute. This was a decidedly succinct but not entirely inaccurate version of events.

The elderly witch gaped at them in bewilderment for a moment. Then she scoffed and gave her head an indignant little shake before wandering off.

"Bye, Aunt Audrina!" Ginny called out, as Draco snickered.

For a moment neither of them said anything, each lost in their own thoughts.

If someone had told Ginny a few years ago that she and Draco would end up 'not standing each other' and breaking their marriage contract, she would have scoffed just as Aunt Audrina had. She would have never believed it would come to this, and yet look at them now…

She risked a glance at Draco, whose hands were in his pockets as his eyes followed the dancing on the floor.

"How's Molly? And Arthur?" he inquired in a low voice, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Or am I not allowed to ask?"

"They're doing well, thank you," Ginny said tightly.

They slipped into tense silence again.

All of a sudden she felt exhausted by their petty little exchanges. It was silly, childish. More than that, it was surprisingly hurtful. She thought she'd hardened to Draco's callousness, but she was wrong. She thought she could make jokes about their failed marriage, but she doubted if she could keep this up for much longer. There was nothing to laugh about. It had been a fucking tragedy, one she had survived by the grace of God alone.

Turning to Draco, she found his gray eyes were already on her. Still unreadable as ever, but not hard. Not cold. There was a softness there she hadn't been expecting, and that more than anything made tears prick at the back of her eyes.

"Ginny," he said quietly, reaching for her hand and taking it in his. "How have you been?"

His hands were always warm, always felt just right, as if waiting for hers to slip into them. She nodded wordlessly, tearing her eyes away from his. Her throat felt dry, tight. She felt so tired. Why had she come here?

"Draco and Ginny," a low voice announced from behind them. "Trying for a comeback, I hope?"

They turned to find Blaise Zabini, dark and handsome in his dress robes, arm and arm with Astoria Greengrass. He was smiling at them mischievously from behind amused brown eyes, which went from Ginny's hand - still clasped in Draco's - to each of their faces in turn.

"I would hope not," Astoria said lightly, leveling a reproachful glare at Blaise before walking over to stand beside Draco.

Draco laughed and let go of Ginny's hand. "No worries, darling," he said to Astoria, smoothly wrapping his arm around the young woman's slim waist. "You'll be happy to know that Ginevra and I have been at each other's throats all evening."

"I'm delighted," she replied in a voice laden with sarcasm, but her delicately beautiful face turned towards Ginny, her eyes full of undisguised concern.

Ginny smiled broadly in response. "Hello, Astoria. I love your dress."

"Thank you! I've been admiring your robes all evening."

The two women continued to exchange pleasantries as Blaise pressed his lips against the side of Ginny's face. "I'm ecstatic you've come, Gin," he whispered into her ear, before loudly announcing, "I'm dragging you to the dance floor and I don't care what you say!"

He drew her by the waist, leaving her just enough time to say goodbye to Astoria, who waved back. Draco she ignored; she didn't think she could bear looking into his gray eyes after this little charade.

"Thank you," she whispered into Blaise's shoulder as they settled among the dancing couples, moving slowly from side to side. "I don't think I would have lasted much longer."

"It's alright, love." He held her tightly by the waist. Surely he could feel the way she was trembling, but he said nothing.

As Blaise twirled her around, Ginny risked a glance in Draco's general direction and saw that he was whispering something into the blonde and admittedly beautiful head of Astoria Greengrass. They looked wonderful together, and happy.

Ginny couldn't deny that she still carried a blazing torch for her ex-husband, but this touching scene and their recent disastrous attempt at small talk just now made her all the more aware of the need to snuff it out. Two years gone and he was newly engaged to a woman who was probably superior to her on all counts. And where was she? Standing where he'd left her, deep down still waiting for a return that would never come. It was high time to move on, wasn't it?

Ginny exhaled, relaxing, and it felt as if she'd been holding her breath all this time.

"There, that's more like it," Blaise whispered approvingly, his fingers moving over her rib cage until she giggled. "I'd hoped you would come, but didn't really expect you to. It means so much to me that you did."

"Anything for you, Blaise," Ginny said, smiling as he twirled her around. "But just so you know, I'm not coming to another wedding, so you better make this one work."

Draco spent the rest of the evening by Astoria's side, acting more the part of a living accessory than anything else. With her unfailing intuition, the future Mrs. Malfoy seemed to pick up on Draco's change of mood and left him to brood as he wished.

"Eat your cake," she told him now, handing him a newly cut slice of wedding cake before turning her attention to Pansy Parkinson's gossip.

"…She tossed him like an old dog and now he's shut up in his house writing Transfigurations papers day and night, but he won't let me publish them," his former girlfriend whispered to his future wife, and Draco stared at the cake for some moments before leaving it on a passing waiter's tray.

He felt shaken up, was the truth of it. He hadn't expected to see Ginny here, Ginny who never went to anything – and she had clearly not been expecting him, but they had each underestimated the strength of the other's affection for Blaise.

By mutual unspoken accord they had carefully avoided each other for the better part of the last year, since his last ill-fated visit to their old flat, which had involved the shouting of insults, the breaking of expensive table porcelain, and the firing of curses resulting in an impromptu magical duel, all culminating in an explosive session of frenzied hate-sex.

Draco hadn't been back there in ages, hadn't seen her in ages, and he confessed himself unprepared for the impact her presence had made on him tonight. He was now flooded with memories, with unwanted thoughts and the new awareness of an unnamed sadness; he'd felt her absence like a void somewhere deep inside of him, and he hadn't realized it until he'd come face to face with her tonight. And how pettily he had quarreled with her, how he had riled her, when all he really wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and whisper that he'd missed her.

Now his eyes kept darting to her of their own accord, hungry for the sight of her.

She was dancing with a distinctly scruffy looking Theodore Nott, about whom Pansy Parkinson's gossip centered, and looked quite lovely with her hair down now. She'd cut it short just to spite him some time ago, and it had grown back down to her shoulder blades. Draco found he rather liked it.

"She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" Astoria whispered to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, following the line of Draco's gaze.

Draco embraced her in turn, his eyes still latched on to Ginny. "She's gained weight."