A Taste of Mint and Mystery

No one really noticed Ginny Weasley. She was a quiet girl who chose not to attract the spotlight, and in a family with six older brothers, the quiet one was often completely ignored. Before she’d gone to Hogwarts, she had been as noisy as any of them–but she came home after first year completely introverted and silent. After that, she had faded into the background, and her parents, busy with their sons and Harry Potter, whom they had all but adopted, rarely observed how she had changed.

For the entirety of her second year she disdained human company. Her Gryffindor yearmates seemed silly and shallow to her, and she rarely bothered to hide her contempt. But in her third year, she made a few new friends.

Ginny’s Arithmancy class was shared among all of the Houses, and she found herself in the company of Slytherins for the first time; through some quirk of her schedule, she had never before been placed with them. The two Slytherins were named Ysabelle Zabini and Irene Kensington.

For three years Ginny, Ysabelle and Irene formed a small gang which, although unacknowledged by most of the school, used its members’ close friendship to exact revenge on any who displeased them. Anyone who provoked their odd little trio soon found him- or herself suffering from a rash of unforunate, embarrassing or even painful incidents. They were never caught, and they slowly graduated from childish pranks to subtle curses.

*

"What are we doing tonight?" Ginny asked her companions. They were seated in a side classroom in the dungeons, painting their nails black. They were supposed to be at lunch, but they didn’t really socialize with anyone else. "We already tried that Image-Bender Hex on that moronic Hufflepuff, and we haven’t come up with anything new since then." That particular incident had been their revenge on the Hufflepuff Head Girl, Winifred Leslen, who had given Ginny detention for being out after curfew. The Image-Bender Hex was a nearly failproof way of causing anorexia; it caused the victim to see herself as overweight, regardless of her actual size.

"New plan," Ysabelle replied, blowing on her nails. "There’s a costume party at Slytherin tonight. Wear a mask and look sexy, because we have some lovely specimens of the male variety."

Ginny smirked. "Can do, oh fearless one."

"Excellent."

"Time for class," Irene remarked.

"We’d better get going, then. Ginny?"

"I’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts. I’ll just go… apologize to Professor Court next Monday night."

"Got your shirt all picked out?" Irene’s grin was quick and charmingly lacking in any sense of morality. "I’ve got a new one. No bending required–it all spills out."

"Missed Thursday, too. Looks like lapdance time."

"Whatever works. I’m saving it for the final." Ysabelle stretched provocatively. "Think he’ll go for that one?"

"Yeah–but what he really wants is you naked on his bed. I think I’m going to need a striptease to get an A on the final."

"Just don’t go giving him the idea he can screw you for your grades. That happened with one of the Hufflepuff girls."

"A Hufflepuff?"

"She was seriously desperate–in more ways that one. What was her name, Louise Midget or something."

"Eloise Midgen," supplied Irene. "Nobody else would have her. Not with that face." All three girls laughed softly.

"Oh well, we need to go. See you at the party, Ginny." Ysabelle smiled briefly and left, Irene still giggling over Eloise’s unfortunate appearance as she followed. Ginny sprawled out on the desk and fell asleep.

*

Ginny slipped out of the Gryffindor dorm quietly, carrying her shoes so that the clicking of her heels wouldn’t betray her. She made her way through the halls swiftly and silently, arriving at Slytherin in a matter of minutes. She slipped on her shoes and her mask, and stepped up to the hidden doorway that led to Slytherin.

"Abandon hope all ye who enter here," she whispered, and the wall slid open. She was immediately greeted by heavy, thumping rock music. /Silencing Charm on the door,/ she thought irrelevantly, and she walked into the serpent’s den.

A slender young man, dressed as a snake, caught her hand and bowed over it, pressing his lips lightly to her palm. "Welcome to Slytherin," he murmured. He vanished into the crowd as quickly as he had appeared.

Ginny joined the costumed teens dancing to the throbbing beat, her dyed hair blending in perfectly with so much black. The Slytherins were a creative bunch when it suited them, and their costumes bordered on the fantastical–but all with a dark theme. Ginny saw black unicorns, bloodstained princesses, mad wizards and witches form ancient lore, and countless demons, all precisely designed and perfectly executed.

A girl dressed as a hawk and another garbed as the Fiddler, a well-known Slytherin ghost, came up to Ginny. "Welcome to Slytherin," shouted the hawk over the music. "Find your dancing partner yet?"

/Ysabelle,/ observed Ginny. "I’ve only just arrived! How did you know it was me?"

"I gave you that dress!"

"Come on," urged the Fiddler, Irene. "Let’s hit the dance floor!"

Together the three girls made their way to the center of the room, and began dancing as though their lives depended on it. Their frenzied, frenetic dance drew attention, and they were frequently joined by others–sometimes for one dance, sometimes two or three. First Irene and then Ysabelle melted away into the crowd, leaving Ginny to dance on alone. She was joined by the snake boy.

"Shall we dance?" he asked in her ear.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck in reply. They slipped away from the dancers, swaying serpentine to a beat only they could hear. His head bent and their lips met.

Her lips parted under his and they kissed until the need to breathe drove them apart. She licked her lips and looked up at him, eyes smoldering. He smiled enigmatically and began twining a lock of her hair around his fingertip. "You taste of mint and mystery," he told her softly.

"Care for another taste?" she asked him challengingly. "Then come and get it!" she added, spinning away and back to the dance. His eyes bright with laughter, he followed.

They danced for what could have been a moment and could have been eternity, bodies locked together and lips tangled. Finally he pulled her away from the dance floor again, this time in the direction of a couch.

"You’re not in Slytherin," he mused, "because I’d know you. And you’re probably not in Ravenclaw, although it’s a possibility."

"Maybe I’m in Hufflepuff," she suggested, eyes glinting tauntingly. "How would you know?"

"You’re not in Hufflepuff," he told her calmly. "Hufflepuffs can’t kiss; they’re too idiotically virginal."

"I’ll take that as a left-handed compliment," she replied dryly.

"See? Not a Hufflepuff. A Hufflepuff would have stuck up for her Housemates."

"Maybe I’m a rogue."

"Quite possibly. But not a rogue Hufflepuff. They don’t exist."

"Why don’t you shut up and kiss me?"

"Certainly." He obliged her, and they proceeded to snog until the clock chimed two o’clock.

She slid out of his arms, eyes sparling wickedly. "I’d better get going. The Hufflepuff dorms get bed-checks."

"Come on Saturday night," he retorted, "and leave your Hufflepuff virtue behind. Slytherin poker night."

"We’ll see." She turned to leave, when he called her back.

"Hey! What are you supposed to be?"

She pulled her hair forward, revealing black angel wings tattooed on her back. "A fallen angel. What else?" She turned around and grinned saucily at him, and left.

*

The next morning Ginny went to breakfast, a rare occurrence indeed. Ysabelle and Irene both waved her over to the Slytherin table, although they prudently sat at the end with Ginny between them. Slytherins did not take well to intruders.

"So," asked Ysabelle, "did you get lucky last night?"

"Define lucky," Ginny retorted.

Ysabelle pouted. "Fine. Did you engage in sexual relations with the boy you were dancing with?"

"No, I went home after snogging him thoroughly."

"Bor-ring," sang Irene tauntingly.

Ginny lifted an eyebrow. "He did invite me to come by on Saturday night, so he must not have been too bored."

"He invited you to Slytherin poker night?" demanded Irene incredulously. "Those are really exclusive… we only get to go because Blaise helps organize it."

"What can I say? I am skilled in the ways of woman." Ginny smirked.

"Mm-hmm," murmured Ysabelle sardonically.

"So," prompted Irene, "who was he?"

Ginny smirked. "Wouldn’t you love to know."

"Wouldn’t you," retorted Ysabelle.

The redhead simply stretched back and eyed the boys at the Slytherin table. "Slim, tall, and blond… who on earth could it be?" she mused.

"I wonder," Ysabelle chimed in sarcastically.

Irene choked. "Sweet Mephisto! MALFOY!?"

"Did I hear my name being taken in vain?"

All three girls turned as one to eye Draco Malfoy up and down. "Not at all, pretty one," Ysabelle replied smoothly.

"We wouldn’t dream of it," Irene added.

Ginny simply lifted an eyebrow.

"And you would be…?" he asked her disinterestedly.

"Ginny," she answered coolly.

"Ah." He sat between her and Ysabelle. "And what would a Weasley be doing at the Slytherin table?"

She grinned. "Maybe I’m a rogue."

"I don’t doubt it." He smirked at her arrogantly, and got up to leave.

"Oh, Malfoy?"

"Yes, Zabini?"

"Would it be all right if Ginny came by on Saturday night? I think we need some fresh blood in the games."

"Check with your sister. I don’t care."

"Thanks."

"Anytime." He sent them one last glance, and left the hall.

*

Ginny sauntered into the Slytherin common room, black eyes glinting lazily as she sized up the group already seated in a circle at the center of the room. Ysabelle and Irene were both sprawled out on the floor. Blaise sat at the center of the circle, her soft sable hair gleaming in the firelight.

"Do join us," Malfoy drawled languidly from behind her. She spun and lifted an eyebrow.

"As you wish, Malfoy."

"Then have a seat," he murmured, gesturing to an opening in the circle. He dropped to the floor with lazy grace and looked up at her with arrogant expectation oozing from every pore of his body.

She eyed him contemptuously and sat down a few inches away, stretching with deliberate, malicious sensuality. "Very nice," he purred into her ear, "but I think you can do better, oui?"

She tossed back her head, exposing the creamy skin of her neck. "Trust me," she murmured back, "I’m just getting warmed up."

"Ahem." The group looked up at their Head of House, leaning against the wall with the conscious grace that often marked the best of Slytherin. "Keep it down. I have tests to grade."

"Why don’t you join us?" Ysabelle suggested, a wicked smile dancing on her lips.

"Some other time, I’m sure." He looked her up and down, smirked, and added, "Soon, I hope."

"As do I," she breathed, tapping a finger to her lips and blowing him a kiss.

He nodded, dismissing her, and turned to Blaise. "Kindly make sure the Silencing Charms are up, and bear in mind that if you’re caught, I disclaim all knowledge or responsibility."

"As always," she retorted dryly. "Go grade your papers, and when you’re done feel free to join in…?"

"As I said, some other time," he returned curtly, and withdrew to his room.

"As we said," Blaise observed with a wink at her sister, "I hope that time comes soon."

"I sense a threesome," noted Malfoy with a faintly superior smirk.

"I sense bitterness over being overshadowed by a middle-aged potions master," Blaise replied bitingly.

"Overshadowed? Hardly. Isn’t that right, Weasley?"

"Oh, I don’t know," Ginny drawled. "He *is* awfully sexy."

"Is that so? More than I am?"

"Hard to tell, seeing as I’ve barely had any time to size you up next to each other."

"Tough crowd," Pansy Parkinson observed with a sly twist of the lips. "Turned down by a Weasley, Draco, you’re sinking rather low, don’t you think?"

"Fucking with Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy, don’t you think you’ve sunk even lower?" Draco asked sweetly. "Or are you really after Millicent?"

Pansy subsided, glaring at Draco furiously.

"Now, Draco, let’s play nicely with the other children," Blaise murmured.

"I don’t play nicely with anyone, Blaisie darling."

"I’ll bear that in mind, the next time I feel like digging out my whips and handcuffs. But first… all the underclassmen cleared out?"

"If they haven’t, they’d better. You know how much Goyle loves pedophilia."

"Almost as much as you like being a nasty little brat, love," Pansy remarked in dulcet tones.

"And almost as much as you love playing Mrs. Robinson," Ginny observed to the air next to Pansy’s head. "Colin and Dennis Creevey, really, Parkinson. Even the Gryffindors wouldn’t have them. Who’s next, Eloise Midgen?" The older girl went vivid scarlet.

"Dear, dear, Pansy," Draco said, delighted. "Is that true? I imagine they were an improvement on Malcolm Baddock, seeing as I don’t think the poor lad has hit puberty, but still… Gryffindors? *Mudblood* Gryffindors?"

Pansy looked at him coldly, then snapped, "So deal, Zabini."

"Ante up, darlings," the other girl replied sardonically. Ginny copied the other teenagers in removing her shoes and tossing them in a corner.

Ginny studied her hand lazily. Two pair. She tossed out the remaining card and kept her face smooth as she noted her improved hand. Full house.

"Time to separate winners from strippers," Blaise murmured, voice softer than velvet. "Flush," she added, placing her cards on the floor.

"Two pair, queen high," Pansy stated, likewise spreading her hand on the ground.

Crabbe muttered, "Pair of aces."

Goyle grunted, "Pair of kings."

Smiling faintly, Ysabelle put her cards down silently. Three tens.

Irene dropped hers carelessly. "Straight."

"Glad to hear it," Draco said, leering. "Full house." He put down three fours and two sixes.

Ginny smirked and placed her cards down gently. "Full house, jacks high."

One of Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up. "Nice." Then he pulled off his shirt.

"Can’t you do better, darling? That was positively tepid," she sneered maliciously.

"Darling. I’m just getting warmed up."

She smiled patronizingly and handed her cards to Blaise. She was looking forward to the game’s conclusion.

*

Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent were long gone. After their departure, the rules changed. The holder of the lowest hand stripped; the others did not. They kept playing, waiting for the next player to drop out.

Irene lost her last hand and went upstairs with a beautiful dark-haired boy, both wearing nothing but underwear and not caring. The other sixth years vanished by ones and twos. Ysabelle was the last, pulling on her robe and slipping into Snape’s room. Blaise’s lips twisted briefly before she went back to the game.

There were only three of them left: Blaise, Ginny and Draco.

"Shit," Blaise muttered, staring at her hand in consternation. She had absolutely nothing, and she was down to her bra and garters as it was. "Dealer withdraws."

"So long, Blaisie darling," Draco called mockingly after her. She flipped him off casually and sauntered into Snape’s room after her sister. Ginny and Draco heard the definite click of a lock being turned into place.

"So it’s down to you and me," Ginny observed, lounging back lazily. She had lost her socks, her skirt, and her robe, leaving her to play in her slip and a half-buttoned white blouse over a black lace bra.

"That it is, Weasley," he agreed easily. "I’ll deal." He had lost his socks, his belt, his robe, and his shirt, but he still wore tailored black trousers and a black cotton tee shirt.

"As you wish," she murmured, trailing a finger along the lace of her bra. His eyes flashed before icing over, settling on the faint smirk dancing across her lips.

They played in silence, the only sound that of fabric sliding against skin as they stripped. Ginny removed her slip; Draco his shirt. She removed her blouse after her latest loss and eyed him coolly, allowing her hair to fall backwards and reveal the milk-white breasts in their lacy scraps.

Draco unconsciously licked his lips, and dealt again.

He lost. Taking his trousers from him, she folded them neatly and set the to the side, giving him a blatant once-over. Garbed in nothing but black silk boxers, he sat cross-legged and enjoyed her scrutiny. He was slim but muscular, as most Seekers were, his skin shades paler than her own, his hair a perfect shade of icy white.

"One more round?" she asked carelessly.

"Gladly."

This time, she lost. A tiny wicked smile curving her lips, she rose and tossed her hair over her shoulders, turning her back to the blond boy. She slipped off her bra with deliberate sensuality, and then pulled her hair forward again. Draco lifted an eyebrow at the tattoo on her back. Black angel wings.

"Well," he drawled as she turned around, red hair not even remotely concealing her unbound curves. "It seems I’ve found my rogue Hufflepuff."

"Oh?" she asked innocently, eyes wide. "Was that what you were looking for?"

He caught her wrist and pulled, bringing her tumbling down on top of him. Recovering swiftly, she straddled him and rested her crossed arms on his throat. "Tell me," she breathed lascivously, "is that your wand in your boxers or are you just happy to have me here?"

"Oh, I’m *very* happy to have you here," he replied with a lewd grin. Bringing one hand up to rest on her left breast and leaving the other to hold her ass in place, he began to nibble on her exposed throat.

"Do you have," she gasped feverishly, "your wand?"

"You’re sitting on it," he responded, lifting his mouth from its travels down her neck to her pale creamy breast.

"No, idiot, your wand," she snapped, before letting out a high-pitched whimper as he began toying with the circle of darker, rougher skin that tipped her breast.

"What do you want it for?" he asked, once again lifting his head, this time with a vaguely irritated look.

"I have no desire to end up pregnant after this joyous little scenario," she retorted, annoyed.

"Ah. Hang on." He reached out and snagged his robes, pulling out his wand–eleven inches, ebony and veela hair.

"Thanks. Contraceptus," she added, pointing the wand at her stomach.

"Happy to oblige," he told her, resuming his former position. A few seconds later, she resumed whimpering.

*

Ysabelle stumbled sleepily out of Snape’s room, looking truly and happily well fucked. Her bleary gaze first focused on the clock. It began to chime, and she sighed, counting. Six o’clock.

Then her eyes dropped as she decided to look for her shirt; after all, she was rather fond of it, although she didn’t have many objections to wandering around the Common Room in the buff. She was quite proud of her body; her father had spent a great deal of money making sure she and her sister were as perfect as humanly possible.

A single dark eyebrow lifted as she took in the sight of Ginny and Malfoy entwined naked on the floor. Sighing in exasperation–the Common Room was the one part of Slytherin that McGonagall was permitted to enter, and might well have, in search of a missing student, and of course they had decided to fuck *there*–she draped Malfoy’s robe over them and headed off to her room to attack the coffee the house elves always brought after poker night. She only walked into two doors on her way.

*

Ginny woke first, and looked down at the naked male beneath her with a mildly triumphant smirk. He stirred slowly, cracking his eyes open to see the grin of a throroughly debauched woman. "Good morning," she said, giving him a slow kiss.

"That it is," he agreed, standing and pulling her up with him. The robe slipped off her back, and he caught it, wrapping it around her more securely. "Let me get my underwear on and we can go to my room," he told her, casting about for the discarded undergarments.

"Looking for these?" Malfoy lifted his head and a pair of clean silk boxers–green this time–hit him in the face. Blaise smirked lazily, and added, "The house elves will be by at about half six, so you might want to move your lily white arse out of the Common Room and into a pair of trousers."

He stepped into the boxers and glanced up at his yearmate. "Have fun last night?"

"Mm-hmm. That I did. You?"

"Of course."

"Ah, but did she?"

"He’s not half bad," Ginny drawled, before turning her face into his throat and biting.

"Come by my room after he’s dressed, and you can borrow some clothes," Blaise said, then turned and left the room.

"Well, love, if you’re done playing vampire…?" Draco inquired mildly, amused despite the fact that she had drawn blood.

She glanced up at him, licking a smudge of blood off her lower lip. "I suppose so. For now, anyway." With a slightly regretful sigh, she stepped away, allowing the robe to slip down the creamy, rounded expanse of flesh. "You taste good," she added, smirking at where his eyes had fixed themselves. She shrugged the robe fully onto her shoulders, and pulled him in the vague direction of the dorms. "Come along, pet; I need to borrow some clothing."

"I don’t know," he mused, tugging the black fabric lightly. "I rather like you better without them."

"Then perhaps you’ll be in luck later," she told him serenely. He chuckled softly, and led her down the hall to his room.

*

The next Monday morning, Ginny took her seat at the Slytherin table and sipped black coffee at Malfoy’s side, a position that would become hers alone in future months. Their conversation was polite and unremarkable, the only odd point the end. Malfoy stretched, hefted his bag, and then turned to Ginny. "Astronomy Tower, ten o’clock. If you can sneak past Professor Sprout." And then he was gone.

*

The Yule Ball marked an irreversible turning point in Ginny’s life.

Dressed from head to toe in stark black, she made a striking picture with her flame-red hair and vampiric pale skin. The dress, a gift from Draco, was cut low in the back to reveal the angel wings. Draco, in black and silver, suited her to perfection.

They arrived at the Ball late, both fair faces slightly flushed from an extended bout of kissing. The Slytherins smirked indulgently, long since used to the antics of their royal couple. However, their belated entrance drew less friendly attention.

Ron Weasley, noticing his sister for perhaps the first time in three years, stared slack-jawed at the ice-eyed redhead on Malfoy’s arm, every inch the Slytherin queen. The blond immediately swept her into a dance, both moving with identical languid grace.

Ron, flanked by Harry and Hermione, marched up to Malfoy as he drifted across the room to fetch Ginny a glass of punch.

"What the hell are you doing with my sister?"

The blond eyed him disinterestedly. "I was dancing. Are you now visually as well as mentally challenged?"

"Why," Ron asked from between gritted teeth, "were you dancing with my sister?"

"That is what one traditionally does with one’s date at a ball, yes? Unless one is in the mood for a quick shag in the corner."

"You–" He stepped up to Malfoy, hands clenched.

"Draco." The three Gryffindors turned to stare as a narrow, pale hand settled on Malfoy’s arm. "How long can it take you to bring me a glass of punch?"

"Here it is, darling. I’m sorry I took so long; this oaf waylaid me." Ron’s face flushed in fury.

"Draco, don’t provoke it. It can’t help being completely lacking in social graces."

"Ginny, you have no idea what you’re getting into," Hermione snapped. "Come on, come back to Gryffindor Tower. We’ll make him leave you alone."

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Why on earth would I want him to leave me alone? That quite defeats the purpose of a relationship."

"Ginny, don’t be an idiot!"

She walked up to Hermione and smiled coldly. Then she poured her punch over the older girl’s head. "Oops. Clumsy me." She made a graceful curtsy and returned to Draco’s side. "Come along, love, I seem to be in need of more punch."

"As you wish, darling." He followed her, a lazy smirk dancing across his aristocratic features. The Gryffindors stared after them, slack-jawed, Hermione brilliant red with fury and embarrassment as she dripped pink punch all over her pale gold dress.

*

"I beg your pardon, Headmaster, but might I have a word?"

Dumbledore turned and sighed inwardly. He had been anticipating this conversation for quite some time. "Of course, Miss Weasley. How may I help you?"

She smiled the polite, meaningless smile she had learned from Draco. "It concerns a misSorting."

"Ah. And whom do you believe to be the victim of this egregious error?"

"Myself," she replied, inclining her head slightly.

"I see. Do you wish to attempt to rectify this mistake?"

"Yes. As soon as possible, in point of fact."

"Yes, of course. If you would accompany me to my office, I believe that we can deal with this matter immediately."

"Thank you, sir."

They left the Ball, Dumbledore moving wearily and Ginny gliding effortlessly beside him. No more words were spoken, until they reached his office. "Hershey’s Krackle," he said, and the gargoyle jumped away. Ginny lifted an eyebrow, but declined to comment.

Dumbledore took the Sorting Hat without speaking again, and handed it to her. She took it, scrutinizing the tattered old hat, and then put it on her head.

‘I remember you, oh, yes, a difficult choice…’

‘You made the wrong one,’ she said silently. ‘Put me where I belong.’

‘At the time, it was the right choice,’ it corrected her. ‘I never make mistakes. But still, even I cannot predict how a person will change, which is why reSorting is permitted, my dear. You have changed, my yes, you’ve changed…. The only Weasley to ever give me troubles, you know, was you. The rest of that remarkably large clan… uncomplicated. But you… a fine mind, a fine sense of loyalty–in some cases, mind you–brave… but you never had this ambition before.’

‘People change.’

‘Yes, they do. So, where to put you? Clearly, not Gryffindor, you wouldn’t be here if that still suited… not Hufflepuff, for you’re certainly not kind. Ravenclaw perhaps… no?’

‘You said I was ambitious. Have you no further comment? Do I not belong with the others with great ambitions?’

‘Ambitious, yes, and cunning, and not overly troubled by playing by the rules… you will go far, my dear, wherever I put you. Perhaps the world would be better served if I place you in Ravenclaw… but you would be happier in Slytherin, and I’m not here to save the world. Only to put you where you belong. We agree, then? It will be SLYTHERIN!"

She removed the Hat calmly, and handed it back to Dumbledore. "Thank you, sir, for the opportunity to settle that matter. I shall collect my effects tonight and move them to the Slytherin dungeons, if that seems suitable to you."

"As you wish," he replied quietly. "Do you wish to say goodbye to your friends in your former House?"

"I have no friends in my former House," she said coldly. "And with your permission, sir, I would like to return to the Ball."

"Run along, then."

As she obeyed, he watched her, already aware of what she would become. Some people, he mused sadly, were irrevokably beyond redemption. Ginny Weasley, it seemed, was one of them.

*

Draco Malfoy graduated at the top of his class, at last surpassing even Hermione Granger. Immediately after his graduation, Ginny Weasley vanished. Her parents never saw or heard from her again.

Some five weeks after the mysterious disappearance of Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy married a young redhaired woman named Vanessa Wesley, thenceforth Vanessa Malfoy. It was a small, exclusive wedding, to which the invitation list was solely Slytherin. The young couple honeymooned in Paris and then returned to Malfoy Manor, still picture-perfect newly-weds.

Death Eater raids became more and more frequent, and the resistance to Voldemort’s rule was slowly and methodically crushed. Dumbledore died not long into the war, and his place was taken by the young but heroic and inspiring Harry Potter. The final battle was fought in May of 1999. Shortly after, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger vanished, never to be seen again.

*

"You look perfectly dreadful, Potter."

"Go to hell, Malfoy."

"You’re hardly in a position to be giving me orders. Seeing as you’re the once manacled to the wall and I’m the one holding all the wands." He paused, twirling Harry’s wand between his fingers, before unceremoniously snapping it in half. "My Lord gave very specific instructions as to the disposal of this, so if you’ll excuse me…? My wife will keep you entertained whilst I must away." He bowed mockingly and exited.

"His wife?" Ron peered at his best friend in the semi-gloom of the dungeon cell.

"Good evening, Harry. Ron. Hermione." A figure silhouetted in the doorway–small, slender, female. Then she stepped into the room, and lit the candle sconce in the wall.

"Ginny!" Ron gasped. "We thought you were dead!"

She smiled sweetly at him. "No, I’m very much so alive, as you can see."

"Ginny, can you get us out?" Harry hissed urgently. "It’s very important."

"Yes, dear, I know," she replied distantly. "One moment?" She turned away, and murmured a soft spell, illuminated the small cell more clearly. She was dressed in a beautiful white evening gown, her hair spilling down her back in a long fall of silk fire. She turned back to face the three prisoners, her lips curved in a distinctly unpleasant smile. "Are you quite comfortable?"

"Ginny!" cried Hermione softly. "You have to get us out of here!"

She laughed quietly, pulling her wand out of her sleeve. "Yes, of course." She held up the wand in the light, turning it this way and that. "Ivory, eleven and a half inches, with a core of twined unicorn and veela hair. Very unusual combination. I had it designed to my precise specifications, you know. It took months to complete it. But it’s worth it, really. Such a lovely wand."

"Ginny, if you don’t mind?"

"Ah, but Harry dear, I do mind. A good soliloquy is a necessity in a tragedy such as this. Do you know how you were captured?" she asked abruptly. "I’ll tell you, if you don’t."

"Ginny…"

"No, hush and listen. Fred and George… all those times they tormented me when I was a child. Ginny! Look at this diary, isn’t it scary? Don’t you feel tempted to Petrify a cat? Look in the mirror, Ginny, that’s the Heir of Slytherin, look at your walls that we painted on in red paint so when you wake up in the middle of the night the first thing you’ll see is the words you wrote in blood on the walls at Hogwarts… her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever… And still, they still trusted me, did you know that? Still believed in sweet little, innocent little, stupid little Ginny. A mistake I’m afraid they will not have a chance to repeat. Such a shame…"

"Ginny?"

"Haven’t you figured it out yet?" she demanded impatiently. "I’m the one who betrayed you. I tricked Fred and George into telling me where you were… then I tortured them to death… just like I’ll torture you. Don’t you understand? I’m not little Ginny anymore." She smiled cruelly, and pointed her wand at Hermione. "Silencio. Crucio."

As the Muggle-born girl’s body was wracked with spasms of silent pain, Harry turned to look at the redhaired woman, her face untroubled as she tortured a girl she had known since her childhood. "Why?"

"Why? Because of love, Harry." She glancd at him, her eyes sparkling. "Because I’m happy here. Because I’m married and in love and everything is perfect. Perfectly perfect."

"To whom?"

"To Draco, of course! I’m having a baby soon… how does that sound, Ron? You’ll be an uncle! Of course, you won’t be able to see the baby… but still, it has a nice ring to it. Kassandra if it’s a girl and Alexander if it’s a boy."

"Please stop torturing Hermione," Harry asked quietly. "Please."

"Hmm? Oh, of course. Finite incantatem." Hermione collapsed back against the wall, gasping.

"Nessa? Are you almost done?" She looked back, her face alight.

"Draco! Come here, love." He obliged her, and kissed her lingeringly. "I’m nearly done… just one moment, and we can go." She turned back to the prisoners, beaming. "I’m sure you’ll understand if I cut out visit short. It’s nearly tea-time, and I’ve barely spent any time with my husband all day. Avada Kedavra."

"Ron!" shouted Harry in horror.

"Draco, that’s all for me. My Lord said you could have the other if you wanted, though."

"Thank you, love. No man could ask for a better wife." He pointed his wand almost casually at Hermione, and said, in a conversational tone, "Avada Kedavra." He tucked his wand away, and looked at Harry. "My Lord will kill you soon enough, I suppose, Potter. Farewell, as I doubt we’ll meet again."

"Goodbye, Harry," Ginny said, with a sweet smile. "Now come along, Draco, it’s time for tea."

They walked away, pausing in the doorway. "I love you, Nessa."

"I love you too, Draco."