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.
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