All You Need Is Love

Even though Draco never visited her once after their kiss, even though she continually had nightmares about the murdering of children, and even though she took TomÂ’s pink potion for a third time, Ginny became well again.

It seemed to take months and months of lying in bed, sweating, barely feeling the pain of her body, only feeling the acute fear of her nightmares. But it finally happened - she finally was healed.

The nightmares certainly didnÂ’t help the process. Each one she had was identical to the last - frighteningly real and horrifyingly graphic. Each time it was a different family . . . a different child. Yet it always included Tom doing the murdering, and his dumpy sidekick holding the next victim, sometimes laughing hoarsely for no reason at all.

The nightmares happened each night after the first “vision” occurred; only now they did so in her sleep. It came to be that she was terrified to shut her eyes, lest she sleep, but in the end, the sickness pulled her into a deep slumber, and she dreamed.

The first couple of times, she woke up screaming, and Maria was at her side in an instant. She would beg Ginny to tell her what was wrong, what had happened in her nightmare, though Ginny wouldnÂ’t be able to speak. SheÂ’d tremble violently, shake her head, swallow, and wrap the covers around her tighter, as if it would help any. Maria would take a hint and stop asking, taking hold of her sweaty hand until she fell asleep once more.

After those first few dreams, though, Ginny managed to wake up without much noise. The sheets and nightgown would be twisted around her body, damp from perspiration, and her hair would cling to her forehead and cheeks, but sheÂ’d only let out a small whimper, relieved that it was over. Then sheÂ’d lay awake, staring at the canopy, trying to keep her mind blank, until the first rays of sun seeped through the curtains into her room.

Combining the lack of sleep, the reduced appetite, and the aching loneliness deep within her, it was amazing that Ginny regained her health. The night of the thirteenth she had taken TomÂ’s potion for the final time, fallen asleep, had a horrific nightmare, woken up, fallen back to sleep for the remaining three hours till dawn, and woken up the morning of the fourteenth feeling weak, tired, and feverless.

Ginny sat up and threw the covers off her. SheÂ’d been sweating a lot the night before; sheÂ’d had the fever then, she was certain. It was as if it had cleared up overnight. And if she hadnÂ’t been so happy to be well again she wouldÂ’ve been suspicious.

Her eyelids felt heavy, and she wanted nothing more than to drop back onto the pillow and sleep. But she dreaded the nightmares that accompanied sleep, and forced herself up and out of bed.

As if signaled, the door opened and Maria walked in at that exact moment. Ginny studied her face - she looked exhausted, the corners of her mouth drooping, her eyes faded. Though when she saw her out of bed, standing on her two feet without swaying, her expression brightened instantly.

“Oh, Highness, are you feeling better?” she exclaimed, waddling over and wrapping her arms around Ginny.

Ginny somehow found it in her to smile. “Yes, I am,” she replied, half-bent to be able to hug Maria back.

Maria pulled away, still looking incredibly happy, and pressed a hand to Ginny’s forehead. “Your fever is gone,” she announced joyfully. “You feel normal now. How is your throat? Any better?”

“A lot,” said Ginny, bringing a hand up to her neck and rubbing it. “I reckon I’m back to good health.” Except for the fact that I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in days, she added in her mind.

Maria continued to look up at her, her smile slowly fading. Her face melted into concern. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you, dear?” she asked quietly as if reading her mind.

Ginny squinted in confusion. “What?” she said rather stupidly, unprepared for such a question.

Maria clicked her tongue and sighed. “At first I thought it might be your sickness giving you that haunted look, but that surely cannot be what is putting fear into your eyes,” she said. “Look at yourself in the mirror. Go on.”

Ginny crossed reluctantly to the full-length mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, revealing her thin and pale skin, her dull, dark eyes, the purplish half circles underneath them, and her frowning mouth. Maria was right - she did look haunted. And frightened.

Of course IÂ’m frightened, she thought bitterly. If she saw what IÂ’ve been seeing for the past few nights then sheÂ’d be terrified out of her wits as well.

“Come, dear, you need a bath,"” Maria said gently, appearing at Ginny’s elbow and taking her arm. “Maybe that will help.”

Oh, a bath! Ginny hadnÂ’t been properly cleaned since she arrived to the godforsaken place. SheÂ’d only been sponged down during her illness, too sick to leave the bed. Gratefully, she tore her gaze from the mirror and followed Maria out of the room.

The tub was rather elaborate, especially when sheÂ’d been expecting a mere wooden barrel. But, she had to remind herself, she was royalty, and royalty deserved better than the average seventeenth century bathing utility. Right then, at least briefly, she really didnÂ’t mind so much being a princess.

At first, Ginny blushed furiously as she undressed completely in front of Maria, but Maria didnÂ’t seem to notice. Once she lowered herself into the warm water, though, Ginny immediately quit being embarrassed and let out a contented sigh. It was the best thing sheÂ’d felt since sheÂ’d arrived.

Except for, a little voice in her head added, DracoÂ’s kiss.

She didnÂ’t get to think very much more on that subject, because a moment later Maria dumped another bucket of hot water over her head. She started, not expecting it, and had been breathing in at that second and got water sucked up her nose.

“Thank you,” she said a little snappishly and sarcastically, wiping the hair from her eyes.

Maria gave her a little smile, looking as though she didnÂ’t know what sheÂ’d done wrong, and kneeled down beside the bathtub with a bar of lumpy, though fresh smelling, soap in her hand. She dunked it in the water to moisten it, then started to wash GinnyÂ’s back.

“I’m not crippled, you know,” Ginny said, slightly jokingly, sliding forward to avoid the soap. “I can wash myself. You don’t have to do it.”

Maria gave her a slightly surprised look and shrugged. “All right, Highness, whatever you wish. You have never seemed eager to wash yourself before. Probably –” But she cut off suddenly, a stricken look coming to her face, before smiling brightly. Probably because I’m a lazy brat, right? Ginny finished for her, looking up at her with a knowing smirk as Maria stood and handed the soap over.

Maria sat in a chair nearby, sewing what looked like the hem of a dress, while Ginny washed. When she asked her what she was supposed to wash her hair with, the older woman gave her a disbelieving expression and scoffed, like Ginny was being insolent, “What is in your hand, Highness?”

Ginny glanced at the soap in her hand with a frown, figuring that logically, there was no shampoo. Sighing, she began scrubbing the bar in her hair, just dreading the tangles that would form.

The bath gave her ten minutes of a wonderful, merciful break from the horrors her brain kept creating. She managed to think of nothing but cleansing herself, and was somewhat reluctant to get out. Only because the water was starting to cool, and because once she was finished with the soap she had nothing else to do except sit there and remember her dreams, did she finally stand up and ask for something to dry off with.

Twenty minutes later, Ginny was once again laced up tightly and shoved into a dress that was probably two sizes too small in the bodice. Even though sheÂ’d been sick of wearing plain white nightgowns for the past few days, they seemed mighty comfortable to her now. She liked breathing very much.

The bath had helped her complexion some, but the bags under her eyes were still a dark shade of purplish-blue, and no matter how brightly she attempted to smile, her eyes just would not light up.

It was then time for breakfast. GinnyÂ’s stomach actually grumbled at the thought. Finally, real, solid food, she thought. Plus, as weird as it mightÂ’ve sounded even to herself, she was eager to see Draco.

Deep inside her, she thought that perhaps the kiss theyÂ’d shared mightÂ’ve changed things between them. Now that she was well, everything that had worried her before didnÂ’t seem half as bad. She would get out of here eventually - she couldnÂ’t stay forever. The dreams would definitely disappear when she returned Hogwarts - they couldnÂ’t last forever. And DracoÂ’s kiss really hadnÂ’t been so terrible. It had just happened at a bad time.

But when she entered the dinning room, she only saw her parents there. Before stepping in any further, she glanced over her shoulder at Maria and whispered, “Where’s Draco?”

“He’s gone home, Highness,” Maria replied like Ginny should’ve known. “He shall be coming back in a few days, for the wedding arrangements.”

Home? Ginny suddenly felt as if her stomach had no bottom. She now felt very, very alone, and numbly sat down at her usual spot. Vaguely, she heard her mother going on and on about how great it was that she was healthy again, that she was terrified that she was going to die, but she wasnÂ’t really listening.

Ginny wasnÂ’t completely sure why she felt so crushed. Draco had had to leave. And he probably didnÂ’t even want to stay. After all, she was sick the entire time - it wasnÂ’t as if she was keeping him company. Not to mention that he most likely didnÂ’t enjoy her company. Still, her stomach was churning unpleasantly and she couldnÂ’t eat much, even though it was the first solid meal she could eat.

When she was through with breakfast, she excused herself and left the room. Well, she thought with a sigh as she walked slowly down the corridor, now I have a few days to kill. So what am I going to do?

First, sheÂ’d make sure that Tom was dismissed. She didnÂ’t want him in the castle any longer. Maybe, if she were lucky, heÂ’d leave the city - or better yet, the country - altogether. Then the murdering would stop.

But if they donÂ’t, she mused, then IÂ’ll have to put an end to it myself. IÂ’ll have to find a way for someone to catch Tom killing someone.

A total of six families had been stabbed to death during her sickness. And sheÂ’d dreamt about each and every one, even those that occurred before she fell ill and started having the nightmares. Sometimes, sheÂ’d see the same family murdered again, two nights in a row. Either way, the dreams werenÂ’t exactly prophetic. SheÂ’d dream about the deaths after they had happened. So she couldnÂ’t use her visions as for an advantage to tell her which family would be next.

Still, maybe one day she’d follow Tom into his frequent trips to the village to check up on various “patients”. She could hide and wait until he started slaughtering, then run for help, and bring witnesses to see what was going on.

Feeling slightly better now that that problem was figured out, at least for the time being, she had to move on to other things that were bothering her. Like how to get back to her own time.

That woman Maria mentioned, she remembered. Alexandria. I can visit her . . . maybe sheÂ’ll know whatÂ’s going on.

It wasnÂ’t a good plan, but it was the only thing that she could come up with. Before she could think any deeper on the subject, she heard footsteps behind her. Stopping, she turned around. For a minute, her breath caught in her throat and she froze, believing it was Tom. But as he drew closer, she realized with a breath of relief that it wasnÂ’t - it was Harry. TomÂ’s not the only person with black hair, Ginny, she told herself, feeling cross because she had actually confused him with Harry.

“Highness,” said Harry, seeing that she was now facing him. He continued down the hall until he stood before her, meeting her eyes. In his hand he clasped something. “Prince Draco ordered me to give this to you.” He held out his hand, revealing a piece of folded parchment.

Ginny gave him a confused look, though she was more puzzled over the fact that Draco had actually left her what seemed to be a note. She took it from Harry and quickly unfolded it. Written in black ink and neat, though rather large, handwriting was a short message: IÂ’m going to visit Dumbledore. If I find out anything, IÂ’ll send word. Turning it over, she recognized that that was all. No signature or anything.

“Draco gave you this?” she asked Harry, slightly doubtful. Out of all the servants in the castle, Draco would actually have Harry deliver it?

He nodded once in reply.

“Well . . . thank you,” she finally said, refolding the parchment. Harry nodded again, then turned to leave. Ginny watched his retreating back, wanting nothing more than for him to stay. If she was stuck here by herself, without Draco, than she would at least like him to stick around . . . it would give her somebody to talk to. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Wait, Harry.”

He obeyed and did so, asking without turning, “Yes, Highness?” This time she couldn’t read the emotion in his voice.

She thought quickly, unsure of what to say that wouldn’t make him leave. “Um . . . do you know where Alexandria lives?”

At this, Harry turned, eyebrows squeezed together in a perplexed expression. “Alexandria?” he repeated slowly. “I am not sure I know who that is.”

She felt her cheeks redden, and she didn’t know why. It’s a reflex, she figured. Whenever I’m around someone who looks, though may not act, like Harry Potter, I blush for no reason. “Maria told me about her,” she explained. “She said she’s . . . magic.”

She expected to get a reaction from Harry, but he merely nodded. “I think I know who you are talking about.”

“Then . . . d’you mind taking me to her?”

He stared at her for a moment before replying, clearly conflicting the idea in his mind. Then he opened his mouth and said, “Terribly sorry, Highness, but I am far too busy today. I will ask someone else –”

“Tomorrow, then?” she interrupted mildly, not ready to give up. “I’ll make sure that all your chores are excused.”

His expression turned hard; his eyes narrowed and turned an icy shade of green. He’s probably afraid I’m going to hurt him, she thought suddenly. Before she could say anything, he replied curtly, “As you wish, Highness.”

* * *

In Wales, there was no snow. It wasnÂ’t cold enough.

Instead, there was rain.

Draco bounced in the back of the carriage, sitting facing Timothy, his scrawny-straw haired servant. Before theyÂ’d gotten in, and Draco had suggested that he ride in the carriage with him, the younger boyÂ’s face lit up so much and he looked so surprised Draco was afraid that heÂ’d wet himself. Instead, he just nodded numbly and vigorously and got in first.

Now, they were both silent. The rain pounding on the roof and the clomping of the horses was enough to drown out any conversation, and since there were two other armed carriage escorts carrying about a dozen knights to protect Draco, moving in front and behind them, he really didnÂ’t have a desire to talk much.

There were coverings over the windows, to keep the rain from coming in - havenÂ’t they ever heard of glass windows? Draco wondered - so he couldnÂ’t gaze out. His eyes traveled everywhere inside the stagecoach until finally, sighing, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

It was no use trying to sleep, though. The past couple of days heÂ’d slept well, maybe a little too well. He was sure if Elle hadnÂ’t woken him up each morning, since she was the only one in the castle who had the guts to do so without fearing for their lives, then he mightÂ’ve slept all day. He just didnÂ’t really want to get up. Partially because he was just lazy, and partially because he didnÂ’t want his father to see him awake and dressed, and force him to go to the site where his and GinnyÂ’s future home was being built.

“Make sure everything goes as planned,” King Edward would say gruffly, distractedly, as if he had better things to be doing then instructing his son. Then he’d leave, and Draco would be stuck there all day. It might’ve not been so bad, of course, except for the fact that it rained every single time. And it wasn’t a gentle, spring rain either - it was hard sheets of icy water. Though Draco got his own little tent to sit in, it wasn’t waterproof - drops were continually leaking in and plopping onto his head and rolling down his neck.

He wouldnÂ’t have been surprised if he got sick, too.

So finally, Draco had managed to talk his father out of watching the construction of the new castle. After all, he really didn’t see the point of it. Did they build an entirely new castle every time a member of the royal family got married? When he asked Edward this, the king only answered, “We have been needing a new one for some time. Isabella and I will continue living in this one, and once I die she will move in with you, and then it shall be torn down.”

That ended that conversation.

Over the past few days, Draco had sort of gotten to know the man who was his father a little bit better. Even though he was constantly irritated and snapped a lot, and even though he never paid any attention to Elle unless asking her if she completed her lessons for the day, Draco found that he liked him a lot more than his real father. This worldÂ’s father was a lot less violent.

And this worldÂ’s father wasnÂ’t always exploding at little things, and didnÂ’t somehow manage to tie the cause to each and every misfortune to the death and absence of Voldemort.

In a way, this life was nice. He had complete control over everybody. It was one thing to boss house-elves around, but another to boss real people around. In his regular time, there really wasnÂ’t any person who would actually obey his orders. Here, though, they set right to the task he asked them to do. And despite how complicated and annoying the clothes that he had to wear were, he did have to admit that he looked excellent in them. Almost every outfit he had had been specifically designed for him, and fortunately, all the colors matched his tone. If there was one thing Draco hated - other than tea - it was colors that made him look washed out.

But now, sitting in the carriage, the ride far from smooth and very uncomfortable, DracoÂ’s mind was not on clothes. He was slowly sinking into a bad mood. And, as seemed to be reflexive for him lately, when he was in a bad mood his thoughts went to the topic of Ginny Weasley.

He hadnÂ’t heard anything about her since he left. One time, heÂ’d swallowed his pride and managed to ask his father what he knew of her health, but Edward had only shrugged, looking irritated, and continued talking about whatever he had been before.

She could be dead, for all he knew. He sincerely hoped that wasnÂ’t the case, because he didnÂ’t want to be murdered by her brothers the minute he finally got back to his own time.

“How much longer until we get there?” Draco asked Timothy, trying to drag his mind away from depressing things.

“A f-few more minutes, Highness,” Timothy answered, giving a very faint smile. Wow, it’s an improvement, Draco thought, smirking. He only stuttered once.

It seemed to take a lot longer than that. Draco sighed, and turned to stare pointlessly at the coverings on the window. He was very tired of waiting. It seemed thatÂ’s all heÂ’d been doing the moment he woke up in this world.

Finally, Draco heard the carriage driver whistle at the horses, and they slowed to a stop. A second later the door was opened for him, and he was afraid heÂ’d have to step out into the rain unprotected - being cold was one thing, but being cold and wet was another that he couldnÂ’t tolerate without complaining. To his gratitude, though, when he glanced out of the carriage he saw that the driver had pulled up directly to an awning. It was wide but short, and ran up to a rather small house, ending at the top of the doorway.

Slowly, Draco got out of the carriage. Glancing around, he could see that this house was clearly in the middle of the forest. Despite the protection of the trees, rainwater got through and pounded heavily on the awning.

DracoÂ’s feet sunk in the soft earth as he approached the door. Since he was finally, finally, there he was a bit anxious. What would Dumbledore be like? Would he be the crazy old nut that Draco had known all his days at Hogwarts? Or would he be totally different?

“I’ll w-wait out h-here, Hi-Highness,” Timothy called to him from the carriage.

Draco nodded slightly, though he was sure that Timothy didnÂ’t see it. Glancing beside the door, he saw a large wooden sign. Written on it with blue paint read: Albus Dumbledore, Specializing in the Gift of Magic. Becoming more confident, Draco sucked in a breath, and then knocked on the door with his knuckles.

It took only a second before the door was opened, and Draco found himself staring in the familiar face of Albus Dumbledore. He looked identical to what he had at Hogwarts - same twinkling blue eyes, same kind and wrinkled face, same long white hair, same half-moon spectacles. His clothes were the only things that looked different; not exactly odd, for they were old-fashioned, and old-fashioned clothing seemed like what Dumbledore would wear just because he felt like it. It was just different.

Dumbledore swept his gaze over Draco for a moment, before bending himself at the waist into a sweeping bow. “Your Highness,” he said somberly, before straightening again with a faint trace of a smile on his face.

“Hello,” Draco said awkwardly, unsure of what to address him as. He couldn’t call him Professor or Headmaster, and calling him just plain Dumbledore seemed too formal. Instead he moved along without saying his name. “I would like to speak to you, if you’ve a spare moment.”

Dumbledore stared at him for what seemed the longest time. His expression turned serious and he squinted his eyes, as if trying to study something on his face. Draco stood uncomfortably, uncertain of what he was doing, but not wanting to move. Just as he was about to open his mouth and say irritably, “It’s really not polite to gape” Dumbledore spoke suddenly.

“I know what you are here for,” he announced, a bit dramatically.

“You do?” Draco drawled doubtfully. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. He might just be pretending he does, he told himself. After all, someone who lives in a Muggle world and does magic openly are normally complete and total fakes.

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied, softer this time. “But I cannot tell you.”

“What?” Now Draco was getting confused. “Can’t tell me what?”

“Not without the girl,” Dumbledore continued, acting like he hadn’t heard him. “I’m sorry, do come back another day.” And with that he started to shut the door.

“No, wait a minute,” Draco scoffed, placing his hand on the door to keep it from closing. He took one step in the slight opening as Dumbledore peered out at him, squinting as though he couldn’t see him. “What girl are you talking about? Are you talking about Ginny?”

“The girl you came with,” he said calmly. He once again tried to shut the door, but Draco was in the way now, with one hand preventing it from moving.

“You mean Ginny, don’t you?” Draco insisted. He is not closing this door without at least telling me something, he thought. "”Princess Ginny? Did you bring us here?”

“Highness, come back with the girl,” Dumbledore repeated firmly, sounding as though he were trying to be patient.

“No –” Draco started struggling with him and the door, fighting to keep it open, when suddenly he heard someone calling his name. Startled, he glanced back towards the carriage, which was still at the end of the awning, but on the road, surrounded by the escort carriages. A little ways down the road, someone on horseback was galloping towards it, which Draco recognized a moment later to be his father.

While Draco had been looking away, Dumbledore had used the distraction to give him a push and slamming the door shut. Cursing, Draco turned back to it and attempted to push it open again, only to find it was locked. He cursed again, and slowly looked back at Edward, who was sopping wet and riding a black horse.

The king came right up under the awning, to Draco’s side, on his horse, apparently not curious to the fact as to why Draco was at an old wizard’s home. Instead, he glanced down at him, icy water dripping off his wet hair and dropping onto his son’s shoulders, his horse stomping one hoof at the ground tossing its head. Then he said, “Come home now, Draco. I have just received news that Princess Ginny is well again, and that they are holding a ball in her honor.”

Still annoyed that Edward had made him miss what might be the only chance to talk to Dumbledore, at least the last chance for another couple of days, Draco repeated vaguely and shortly, “A ball?”

“Yes, it’s tomorrow. We must leave immediately if we hope to make it there by nightfall tonight.”

Edward tugged on the reins, turning the horse around, when his news sunk into Draco’s mind. He jogged around the horse and stood in front of it, looking up at his father’s face. “Wait. Ginny’s not sick anymore?”

“That is just what I have said, is it not, Draco?” Edward demanded, frowning. “Yes, she is well now. So head back to the castle now, for we will be departing shortly.” With that, he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and it went into a gallop, running back down the dirt road in the way they’d arrived. He was not surrounded by escorts, Draco noticed, but he knew the reason. King Edward didn’t like being escorted by knights everywhere he went, so occasionally, he put on grimy clothes of a peasant and rode by himself.

Which was probably why he was riding in the freezing rain. Draco thought he was insane to be doing such a stupid thing, when he could be dry and warmer in a carriage.

DracoÂ’s mood now raised a bit, he turned and strode back into his own carriage. Timothy, who was still sitting where heÂ’d been before, directly across from him, managed a small and shaky smile, though a minute later he seemed to be very interested in a thread on his tunic.

Draco sighed and shook his head. He was surprised at the feeling of actually looking forward to returning to the castle in England. In a way he wanted to see Ginny again, though he had no excuses at to why except simply for the fact that he wanted to see her, and a ball might actually be interesting.

Except, of course, for the fact that he had absolutely no idea how they danced during these times.

That definitely put a damper on his interest.

* * *

“A what?” Ginny asked, looking at her mother in disbelief.

It was early afternoon, the day after Ginny had read DracoÂ’s note. SheÂ’d been dying to go see Alexandria, but Harry couldnÂ’t get out of his duties, no matter how hard Ginny had tried to persuade the Head of the Servants, who was a very strict, boring man named Richard. She was going to have to wait until later that day, she knew, before she even had a hope of getting Harry to show her where Alexandria lived.

Of course, she knew all she had to do was ask Maria where Alexandria lived, and she could go without him. But to be honest, she wanted Harry to come with her. She wanted to have a chance to set things straight - to make friends with him, and for him to stop hating her. And that would never happen unless she got some time alone with him.

Despite this little obstacle, Ginny was having a very good day so far. She hadn’t had a dream the night before, and had spent most of the morning lounging in the library reading some story that had a Latin title, but was written in English. Also, she’d been pleased when she’d actually heard her mother’s first name by one of the servants, who, not knowing that Ginny was there, snapped something about “that horrid Queen Lavinia.” It’d pleased her, because even though she knew she would never need to call her parents by their first names, it was still good to know.

“A ball,” the queen repeated now, shooting Ginny an annoyed glance. Ginny was in her bedchamber, which was twice the size of her own, while the maid was lacing Lavinia into a corset. “For your health. And for our thanks to Thomas. It was because of him that you are well again. He practically cured you overnight, according to Maria.”

Ginny tried not to scowl at Tom’s name. She was sitting in a large, dark green, and elaborately expensive armchair, and dug her nails into the plush armrests. “When is the ball going to be?”

Queen Lavinia winced slightly as the maid jerked on the strings to tighten the corset, then managed a smooth reply. “Tomorrow evening.”

Ginny pressed her lips together, studying the queen. She had obviously been attractive in her youth, though she was still a very comely lady. Her hair was dark, though, and her skin was olive-colored; Ginny certainly did not take after her. Yet despite how she looked, Ginny saw her in no other light than a murdering, angry, jealous bitch. “Will Thomas be there?” she asked, keeping a cool voice, even though she already knew the answer.

“Of course,” Lavinia snapped, reaching out to grip the bedpost for support as the maid once again yanked hard on the strings. “He is the guest of honor, you silly girl.”

Ginny let a nearly silent sigh escape her lips. I’ll just have to avoid him, she thought, when another question popped into her mind. “Is Draco coming?”

“Your father sent word to King Edward early this morning,” Lavinia replied. “The family should be arriving tonight.”

That made Ginny feel somewhat more secure. At least she wouldnÂ’t be the only person there who had absolutely no clue what to do. I donÂ’t even know how to dance, she thought, frowning. At least not the way they dance now.

Lavinia went on chatting about all the important guests who were coming, who were able to come on such short notice, but Ginny tuned her out. The more she dwelled on the fact that she couldnÂ’t dance, the more nervous she felt. Was she supposed to know how to dance? Obviously, she told herself. Lavinia wouldÂ’ve complained that I canÂ’t dance by now if she thought I didnÂ’t know how.

This was going to be a problem, most definitely. She was pretty confident that Draco didnÂ’t know how to dance either, but the ball wasnÂ’t being held for his benefit. People would expect her to dance. If I donÂ’t, then this woman whoÂ’s supposed to be my mother might get so angry sheÂ’ll have the guards shoot me with arrows, too. It was a lame, sick joke, but she still had to smile slightly, however sadly.

“All right, Virginia, since you clearly are not listening to a word I am saying, then you may leave,” Lavinia said sharply, standing still as the maid began to put a horribly pink gown on her. “You have the attention span of a five year old child, and that is not a quality people look for in ladies, especially royalty.”

Ginny stood up and nodded without a word, glad to be escaping. IÂ’m not royalty, she retorted in her head, as she walked quickly from the large room. This life isnÂ’t mine; it isnÂ’t me.

She headed slowly back to her room, wondering if Maria might be there. She desperately needed someone to talk to, and the only person that made sense was Maria. SheÂ’s known me my whole life, Ginny thought, or at least, she thinks she does. Maybe she wonÂ’t mind teaching me how to dance, even if I already should know how.

When she reached her room, she saw that Maria was there, but someone else was, too. A tall, bald, skinny man wearing a ruffled collar that reached his ears was lounging in a chair placed at the table in the middle of the room, smoking a pipe and reading a book. Ginny, shocked for a moment, stood in the doorway and stared at him. He had not seen her, but continued puffing on his pipe and squinting at the page, having trouble reading correctly. Maria was half submerged in the wardrobe, shifting through GinnyÂ’s many dresses and humming quite loudly to herself.

“Just what do you think you are doing,” Ginny demanded, not making it a question. It annoyed her greatly that this man found it all right to smoke in her own private bedroom. Especially when she was a princess, and could have him banned from the city if she wanted. It occurred to her that he might be a powerful man, and maybe that’s why he looked like he thought he belonged there, but either way, he had no right to smoke. Already the room reeked of the smell of it.

Calmly, the man looked up from his book, holding his pipe at his mouth. Maria came out from the wardrobe and gave her a great welcoming smile. “Highness, Marquis is here to fit you.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at the man named Marquis, and asked in a dull but firm tone, “He’s come to what?” After having been “inspected” by Tom Riddle she was very wary of what “fitting” someone meant.

“For your ball gown,” Maria explained hurriedly, noticing the lethal look on Ginny’s face. “Your parents had him summoned here to get you dressed properly for the ball tomorrow night.”

“I left ‘ze Queen of France to design a dress for you, ‘Ighness,” Marquis declared in a thick French accent, blowing out smoke from his mouth. Ginny watched as it made a cloud around his head. “So do not make me wait. Come along, stand right over ‘zaire.” He pointed with the pointy end of his pipe at where he wanted her to stand.

Ginny continue to stare at him a moment longer before slowly making her way over to where he’d directed. “Put that pipe out, please,” she said, sounding icy even to her own ears. “I’m about to choke to death in here.”

“As you wish, ‘Ighness,” he replied, though his eyes blazed for a moment. He quickly smothered the pipe smoke and strolled over to her. “Let me see,” he murmured, looking her up and down. “Seem to ‘ave grown since I last saw you, eh? Maria, please ‘and me zat dark blue dress on ze bottom of zat pile over ‘Zaire” He pointed to a chair in the corner, which was, Ginny hadn’t noticed before, draped over with a pile of many dresses. Maria hurried over with the dress he requested and handed it to Marquis. “Zese are ze latest fashions from Paris, ‘Ighness,” he commented, holding the dress up to Ginny’s shoulders. “I just need to see what suits you and make ze proper adjustments . . .” He trailed off, suddenly deep in thought. After a moment, he clicked his tongue and gave the dress back to Maria. “No, no, no, not right for your complexion. Let me see . . .”

Once he found a color that he liked, he asked Maria to remove the dress Ginny was already wearing. She didnÂ’t mind so much, for she was wearing about ten other layers of under things, and stood there, waiting while Marquis mused over another gown. Then she was asked to put it on.

It took nearly twenty minutes to get through the entire pile of dresses, and she had to try on each and every one. By then, Marquis had only decided that she wouldn’t wear pink - which is a dead giveaway, considering I have bright red hair, Ginny thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes - or any sort of light pastel color. “None of zese styles or colors really flatter you,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “I am still waiting for one zat just jumps out at me . . .”

None in the pile “jumped” at him, so he commanded Maria to leave and have the other dresses he brought with him delivered to the room. Ginny stood there, feeling very, very irritated. Not only was she tired of standing and tired of being squeezed into a million types of gowns, but the room reeked of pipe smoke, and Marquis seemed very much like he enjoyed breathing on her with his disgusting breath. She began praying for a distraction, anything that would get her away from this awful fitting.

Nearly a half hour after more dresses were brought up, Marquis stood back and admired one particular dress. “Aha!” he declared with a triumphant smile. “Zis is the one! Maria, you agree, no?”

Maria, who’d been sitting nearby and sewing something, looked up. Her face brightened and she nodded. “Yes, Marquis, you have done it again. That one is perfect!”

Ginny forced herself not to grumble. It didnÂ’t feel perfect. It was just as uncomfortable as every other dress sheÂ’d ever worn - maybe even more so, because it was fancier and she was terribly afraid if she moved suddenly sheÂ’d rip it. Of course, it was the prettiest dress sheÂ’d seen so far. The bodice was white, with a purplish-royal bluish forepart, with sleeves of the same purply color. The skirt was incredibly long, the hem lying on the ground instead of merely brushing it, made of white satin with the same sort of purplish forepart. And after Marquis left her side for a moment, reaching onto the pile, he returned with a purple cape that he fastened around her shoulders.

“Wonderful,” Marquis whispered delightfully, clasping his hands together.

* * *

Later that evening, Draco and his family still hadnÂ’t arrived. Ginny sat on her bed, no longer wearing the uncomfortable dress. She was worried about it because she thought the skirt was way too long for her, and she was terrified she might trip while attempting to dance. Marquis left the moment he packed up his dresses, and she didnÂ’t get the chance to ask him about shortening the hem. How can I possibly try to dance, she thought, when I donÂ’t even have a dress that fits me properly?

Oh, she was definitely not looking forward to this ball.

Now, she watched as Maria busied herself cleaning the large mirror, humming once again and standing on her tiptoes to reach the top of it. Ginny stared a few moments, feeling unsure of what she was going to do, when Maria asked, “What are you staring at, child?”

“Sorry,” Ginny apologized.

“You don’t have to be sorry," she replied. “I was just curious as to why you are looking at me like that. Is something troubling you?”

Ginny should’ve realized that she could see her reflection in the mirror, and could see her expression as clear as day. She gave a sigh, her shoulders rising and falling, and blurted out quickly, “I don’t know how to dance.”

Maria seemed to freeze in place for an instant, but that could’ve been Ginny’s imagination. Slowly, the short maid turned to meet her eyes. “Don’t know how? Highness, you have been dancing since you were old enough to walk.”

Ginny wrinkled her nose. Oh, great, this is going to be even harder to explain, she thought dully. How could she say that even though she’s been dancing her whole life, she suddenly forgot how? “I just . . . need a few last minute lessons, is all,” she ended up mumbling.

Maria smiled in confusion. “Well, Highness, stand up and come over here,” she said, setting her rag down on the table. When Ginny was hesitant at first, she motioned with her hand. “Come on, come on, I have got other things to complete yet.”

Ginny crossed over to her, feeling very awkward.

“What sort of dancing don’t you know how to do?” She spoke with raised eyebrows and a hint of amusement in her tone. She reckons it’s funny, Ginny realized, her frown deepening.

“I can slow dance,” Ginny said quietly. But then, slow dancing had to be different in this time as well, to accommodate the large skirts the girl’s had to wear. “Kind of,” she added. “Show me the position again?”

Maria gave her a very odd look. "If you wish, Highness," she said with a sigh, and lifted her hands. Ginny realized that this was not the slow dancing she knew. Slow dancing did not require two hands in oneÂ’s partnerÂ’s two hands. Most of the time, she put her hands on a guyÂ’s shoulders.

Straightening, and trying to swallow her embarrassment, Ginny slid her hands into Maria’s. Maria pulled away and shook her head. “What?” Ginny asked timidly.

“Like this, Highness,” she ordered, placing her right hand on Ginny’s waist. Then, with her free hand, she guided Ginny’s left hand onto her upper arm, and grabbed the other one. Nodding, now satisfied, Maria began to move her feet, and Ginny moved with her. After a moment, she dropped her arms and stood back. “You need to relax,” she commanded. “You’re far too stiff. But other than that, you did just fine.”

Only a little relieved, Ginny said, “What other sort of dances are there going to be?”

“The usual sort,” Maria replied, a little absently, picking up the rag and continuing with the mirror. “Pavan, branles, Fabritio Caroso . . .”

Ginny shivered, her stomach fluttering with nervousness. I’ve never heard of any of those, she mused with dread. I won’t know anything, not a single step . . . “I’ve forgotten how to do them, exactly,” she said, kind of loudly. “Can you show me them again?”

Maria laughed her trilling laughter without even turning around. “Goodness, Highness, even if you do not know how to dance then there is no way you can learn all the steps by tomorrow’s ball. I am fairly confident you are not even being serious.”

Ginny’s shoulders sagged. “Well, I’m willing to try,” she said after a moment. “I really have forgotten, you know.” She was beginning to feel very panicky about the ball now, and she started not caring if Maria thought she was being odd or not. When Maria only laughed again, she added, “Just practice with me for a bit, will you? Then you’ll see that I can’t remember a thing.”

“Of course, if that is what you would like to do, Highness,” Maria finally replied, setting the rag down again and turning. “After lying in bed for quite a few days, I can understand that you would like to practice.”

“It’s also because I don’t know how to dance in the first place.” At this point it really didn’t seem to matter what she said, for Maria would not believe her. She could’ve blurted out that she was from four hundred years in the future, and the maid probably would’ve merely laughed and told her to stop joking. But then, Ginny contemplated, who would believe me? I’m not so sure I’d believe anyone if they suddenly told me they were from the future, especially if it was someone I thought I knew my whole life.

“Shall we start with the Branle?” Maria asked brightly, smiling confidently up at her as she held up only one hand.

“Er - sure,” she replied. What the hell is that? she wondered, awkwardly reaching out her arms. She’d been hoping for a dance she’d actually heard of. But then, she should’ve known that it wouldn’t be that simple.

Maria blinked a couple of times. “You only need one hand, Highness,” she said, clearly confused. “Do not stand in front of me . . . come beside me. You know the way to stand.”

No I donÂ’t, Ginny wanted to say, but bit her tongue for it would do her no good. She obeyed without a word, praying that it wouldnÂ’t be too hard to learn how to do this.

“Ready?” Maria asked, glancing at her and giving her another bright smile. “Let us begin . . .” She took a step sideways to the left, and Ginny followed her clumsily, only to receive a sigh of slight amazement and a tightlipped look from Maria. “No, no, Highness. Before you even start you keep your feet together. Then after you take one step, you’ve got to bring them back together. Remember?”

Cheeks burning, Ginny mumbled, “Yes, I remember now.”

Maria’s smile returned and she nodded. “Let us start once more.” Once more she took another sideways left step, and Ginny mimicked her, sure to bring her feet together. Maria took another step in the same direction, and Ginny followed her again. Then, without warning, she took a sideways step to the right, bumping into Ginny, who hadn’t been expecting it. “Highness, now we go right.” She sounded impatient. “What are you trying to prove? I know that you could not have forgotten how to dance. We just had a ball a month ago. It is impossible to forget how in such a short time.”

“I’m telling you, I honestly forgot,” Ginny replied, feeling stupid. She suddenly was struck with an excuse, and hurried to add, “I think it must’ve been that sickness. It must’ve made me not remember how to dance.”

All at once Maria looked concerned, drooping her hand and coming before her to face her. “Truly? Are you having trouble with your memory? Have you forgotten anything else?”

Ginny felt her spirits lift - Maria just might believe that she had forgotten and teach her to dance all over again. Then she wouldn’t look like such a fool at the ball. “I can remember everything else just fine,” she replied, trying not to smile. “But for some very odd reason I can’t remember dancing.”

“Oh dear.” Now Maria looked worried. “So you have forgotten every dance that you have learned?”

“Pretty much,” Ginny answered, pressing her lips together.

“Oh dear,” Maria repeated, taking a step backwards. "”This certainly won’t do, now will it? We can’t have you, the princess, the one all the young men will want to dance with, not know how. Perhaps I should suggest to the queen that she should perhaps cancel it.”

Yes, Ginny agreed instantly. No ball whatsoever is a lot better than having to learn to dance. Yet no matter how much she was with the idea, she knew Lavinia would never call the ball off. She seemed the sort who loved balls, being around important people (even if she was married to the most important man in the entire country) and enjoyed being dolled up. SheÂ’d probably force Ginny to come anyway, and tough it out. And when it was all over, sheÂ’d blame Ginny for making her look like such a fool.

And Ginny couldnÂ’t lie and say she wasnÂ’t feeling well, and have that the reason she wasnÂ’t here. WasnÂ’t the whole point of this ball because she was healthy again?

Sighing, thinking that she was making a horrible mistake, she said, “No, there’s no need to cancel it. The que - Mother won’t allow it, I’m sure. I’ll just have to learn. I’ve still got twenty-four hours, haven’t I?”

Maria shook her head. “Yes, but it’s not going to be easy.” She sighed, rubbed her face, and straightened to raise herself to her full height. Then she squinted suspiciously at Ginny and asked, “Are you absolutely positive you have forgotten, Highness?”

“I swear,” she replied quickly, holding one hand up. “I really have forgotten.”

“All right.” Maria looked as though she believed her, but also like she was dreading the task that was going to have to do. “I shall find someone who is taller than you - one of the servants, most likely. I will return shortly.”

And she left the room, leaving Ginny alone. She turned and fell onto her back on her bed. This is wonderful, she thought. IÂ’m going to have to learn how to dance dances that IÂ’ve never even heard of before, have never even seen before, all before tomorrow night. It wasnÂ’t going to be a good evening, or a good day tomorrow.

Having trouble getting her mind off her nervousness, and the upcoming ball, her thoughts floated to Draco. She imagined he would just sit at the table during the entire ball, eating and scowling at everyone. Since he most likely had no idea how to dance, then he would most likely declined every invitation asked of him. As reluctantly as Ginny was to admit it, she knew that he would be asked to dance many times; not only because he was a prince, but because he would probably be one of the best looking there.

I wonder if heÂ’s gotten a chance to see Dumbledore yet, she considered, trying to think of something other than the ball. He said heÂ’d send word, but knowing him, be probably didnÂ’t feel like it.

Ginny knew that once she saw Alexandria, and even if she got information from the woman, she would still go and visit Dumbledore on her own. She wanted to see what he was like, and if anyone in this world knew why she and Draco were here, he would. Well, anyone except Tom, who wasnÂ’t likely to say a word that he knew that they were all in an alternate universe.

The door opened then, and Ginny sat up to see whom Maria had brought for her partner. A frightening thought struck her then - what if it was Tom?

But to her complete gratitude, it wasnÂ’t. It was Harry.

He didnÂ’t look very happy about being there, for he was scowling openly and even went as far as to cross his arms, as though he were bored. Maria seemed not to notice and gestured for Ginny to get up and join them over near the door, in the part of the room that was cleared and didnÂ’t have much furniture in the way. When Ginny awkwardly stood beside Harry, she moved to the side, obviously just there to observe and direct.

“Okay, we’ll start with the branle,” Maria sighed, preparing herself for what was going to be a long night.

* * *

And it was, a very long night. Ginny grew bored in the first ten minutes. She keep sneaking glances at Harry, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was, anywhere but holding her hand and being her partner while she "relearned" how to dance. As the night wore on, she started not to blame him.

The branle was one of the simplest dances, but the others got more complicated. Every step got jumbled up in her head, blurring in with other movements, other dances . . . and she kept making mistake upon mistake. Harry wasnÂ’t a great dancer, but at least he knew how, and he was clearly becoming annoyed with her. He never spoke once, but he continually sighed and huffed his impatience.

Since the Malfoys hadnÂ’t arrived by mealtime, Maria suggested that they eat dinner in the room, for they should get started right after they finished eating. Ginny nodded, glad for a break. While Maria left to go bring some food up, she collapsed onto her bed, spread-eagled.

"I am never going to learn this," she moaned, and then rubbed her face with her hands. When Harry didnÂ’t reply, she propped herself up on one elbow, and glanced over at him. He was sitting at the table now, seeming very interested in his fingers. Feeling a rush of guilt for him, because it wasnÂ’t like heÂ’d volunteered to help her, much less listen to her whine, she added, "When Draco arrives, you may leave. He can be my partner."

"Thank you, Highness," he said absently, voice neutral.

"IÂ’m grateful for you now, though," she said, trying to sound sincere, but not overly sincere. She slid off the bed and stood up, smoothing her large skirt down. Walking over to the table, she continued, "YouÂ’re probably the only one whoÂ’s the right height to help me learn how to dance."

Noticing that she was now standing beside him, he looked up at her, his eyes unreadable. "Very well, Highness," he said. "But there is always Doctor Thomas, who would also be the perfect height."

GinnyÂ’s blood froze in her veins, though she wasnÂ’t sure the exact reason. Was it because of the mention of Tom? Yet if it was, and since sheÂ’d heard his name a thousand times, than why did it make her react in such an odd way? Or was it perhaps the tone of HarryÂ’s voice when he spoke of him? As if he was trying to be subtly dropping hints that Tom should be the one she was dancing with.

Her mind traveled back to the dreams she had, and she pictured TomÂ’s sidekick, whose face was always hidden in shadows. Could it possibly be Harry? she wondered, remembering her early suspicions of him being the actual one to murder the families. Now, though, she knew it was Tom, but it was likely that Harry was the sidekick.

No it isnÂ’t, she figured after a moment. She could never identify the strangerÂ’s voice, could never see his face, but she could see his body type. And Harry was not short and dumpy, like TomÂ’s partner was. Harry was taller, skinnier, and his voice was a couple of octaves lower. There was no way it could be him, Ginny tried to convince herself, and put it out of her mind.

"No," Ginny said firmly in response to HarryÂ’s comment. She flopped unladylike into a chair beside him, turning it so she could face him. "I do not want Doctor Thomas dancing with me. I donÂ’t want him to touch me ever again, and I donÂ’t want to even see him ever again. I want him to leave this castle right after the ball."

Harry caught her gaze, and he was visibly puzzled. "You . . . you do not think highly of Doctor Thomas? Even knowing the fact that if it were not for his healing skills, you would most likely be dead?" he asked, raising one eyebrow before the other followed after it.

Ginny sighed, and rubbed her eyes. Might as well tell him, she thought. ItÂ’s not like heÂ’s going to prance off and tell everyone what I think of Tom, and even if he does, then I donÂ’t care. I want everyone to know what I think. "I think rather lowly of him, actually," she told Harry after a moment. "HeÂ’s not a good person, Harry. I donÂ’t care what anybody says, or claims, and I donÂ’t care if he is the best damned doctor in this bloody world. HeÂ’s evil, and not at all what people think he is. HeÂ’s just . . . evil."

Harry stared at her, wide-eyed, as if unable to believe what she was telling him. Then, when he realized she was finished, his expression returned to its normal blankness, and he said slowly, "I believe you, Highness."

Now it was GinnyÂ’s turn to be shocked. She blinked, squinted at him in suspicion, and then asked, "You do?"

"I have not seen him do anything with my own eyes," Harry continued, lowering his tone slightly, "but every time I see him, I get this . . . this . . ." He stopped, as if thinking he was saying to much, and stopped. "Never you mind, Highness, it is not important. I will continue where Maria left off cleaning -"

As he started to stand, Ginny put a hand on his arm to keep him from moving. This time, he flinched, tensing under her touch, but did not yank his arm away. Instead, he met her eyes. "No, wait," she said quietly. "I would like to hear what you have to say about him. Please."

Harry stared at her for another moment, the conflict visible on his face, evidently debating whether or not to tell her what he thought. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision, and pulled his arm from her hand, though not as forcibly as she had expected. He sat back down in the chair and stared her straight in the eyes, continuing. "Every time I see him," he repeated quietly, like he was afraid someone might overhear, "I can almost sense the real person he is. I can sense that the smile he flashes about to each and every person, no matter how lowly they are, is fake and put on for show; put on to cover up the person he is trying to hide."

Ginny was already interested, and found herself leaning forward slightly. "What person do you reckon that is?" she asked.

Harry shook his head, indecisive. "To be quite honest, Highness, I am not certain. But I know that he is not the warm, wonderful doctor he portrays to be."

GinnyÂ’s heart hadnÂ’t felt this high in days. She wasnÂ’t the only one who didnÂ’t think that Tom was the greatest thing to walk on the earth! At that moment she couldÂ’ve kissed Harry smack on the cheek, but restrained herself, for she knew that would definitely scare him away, or at least keep him from saying anything more.

"I agree with you," Ginny said soberly, also keeping her voice low. "HeÂ’s not good. HeÂ’s pure evil, Harry. YouÂ’re the only person whoÂ’s close to recognizing it."

"You agree." It wasnÂ’t a question, merely a statement of doubt. Harry once again raised one eyebrow, then the other.

"Yes." Ginny was a bit puzzled at his reaction. "Why, you didnÂ’t think I would?"

Harry smirked, which looked very out of place on his face. Then he snorted. "I believed you were just trying to get me to confess something that you could use against me," he said, looking towards the door.

"How so?" She tried to keep the disappointment out of her tone. He really doesnÂ’t like me, does he?

"I do not know why I should tell you," Harry said, his cold demeanor back in place. "For all I know you could still tell your parents what I said; have them throw me out."

Ginny opened her mouth in shock, and when nothing intelligent came to mind, in a hurt and defeated voice she said, "I would never do that, Harry."

"WouldnÂ’t you?" Harry shot back angrily, standing up abruptly. He started to head towards the door, and Ginny stood as well. "I am going to see if Maria needs any help with the food -"

"No, donÂ’t leave," Ginny ordered, scrambling after him. He paused for a moment, and she managed to slip between him and the door, her back against it. "DonÂ’t leave yet, Harry. I would really like to talk to you. And this time, I mean talk."

"We have talked many times, Highness," Harry replied, eyeing her icily. "And we have yet to discuss something that interests me."

"Harry . . ." Ginny closed her eyes briefly, swallowed, and opened them, looking up at him once more. "Look, Harry. I know IÂ’ve been terrible to you in the past. And I know that youÂ’re a servant, and that IÂ’m a princess, and that you find it hard - no, impossible - to believe that I would actually like to be your friend. But itÂ’s the truth, Harry. I want to be your friend. If I am willing to forget the fact that you are a servant, then maybe you can forget all the awful things IÂ’ve said to you, and all the awful things my family has done to yours." She paused for breath, trying to see if she was getting a reaction from him. His face remained blank, but he was most definitely listening, which gave her encouragement.

"There is something I want you to know," she went on, her eyes shifting downward. "I donÂ’t love my family. I really donÂ’t care about them, because they donÂ’t care about me. My mother only cares about fashion and jewelry and parties and important people, and my father only cares about running the kingdom. They never have any time for me . . ."

"Highness, I really must -" Harry started, reaching for the doorknob.

"Let me finish," she said, grabbing the knob with her own hand to keep him from getting to it. "IÂ’m trying to apologize to you, Harry. IÂ’m trying to apologize for all the terrible, awful, horrible, disgusting things my parents did to your mother. IÂ’m trying to apologize for my behavior, and meanwhile, IÂ’m trying to tell you that IÂ’ll never act that way again."

Harry stared at her for a long time, his face revealing nothing, before he spoke. "You do not have to apologize for your parents, Highness," he said at last, quietly and dispassionately. "What they did does not concern you."

Ginny released the knob, realizing that that was probably the only close-to positive response sheÂ’d receive from him. Numbly, she stepped away from the door, allowing him to leave. Once he was gone, and she was in the room alone, she made her way over to a chair, at the table, on shaking legs and sunk down.

Does that mean he accepts my apology? she wondered. But all he had said was that she didnÂ’t have to apologize for her parents. That didnÂ’t mean that he forgave her for all the things she taunted him with.

Sighing, she placed her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. It seemed the night would never end.

* * *

Draco arrived late that night, for they hadnÂ’t been able to leave Wales until late afternoon. Edward was in a sour mood because of the delays theyÂ’d had, for none of the comfortable stagecoaches had been ready for immediate departure. Therefore, Elle was quiet the whole ride, as if afraid to anger her father, and Draco was once again bored to death the entire time.

When they finally arrived, he was ushered to his room, accompanied by Timothy, who had come this time. The moment Draco was in bed, he fell asleep, without having time to worry about the ball the following day.

Unfortunately, when he woke up, he felt a sense of dread. In a moment he remembered it was because of the ball that evening, and how he would be totally unprepared for it. IÂ’ll just refuse any girls who ask me to dance, he figured, but that still didnÂ’t ease his churning stomach.

Being nervous bothered Draco, for he was rarely, if ever, nervous about anything. He was used to being prepared, or used to knowing that even if he did screw something up, there would always be someone to smooth it over. At Hogwarts, Professor Snape had done that. At home, his father. Here, though, heÂ’d only look like a total idiot if he didnÂ’t know how to dance, and no father would use a Memory Charm to make them forget the incident.

Here, he would have to look like a stuck-up git, rather than an idiot who couldnÂ’t dance.

At breakfast, it was the first time he got to see Ginny in a few days, and healthy again. She came in after he was already seated and beginning to serve himself, their fathers arguing a bit loudly over something, her mother not yet down yet, Elle eating while she hummed some tune happily, lost in her own world. When he looked up and saw her, she flashed him a brief smile, her cheeks turning slightly red, before taking her place at the right of her father.

SheÂ’s the one whoÂ’s going to have to dance, Draco realized then, staring down at his plate, not feeling very hungry. She should be nervous, not me.

He was eager to speak to her alone, but after breakfast her maid whisked her off to begin preparing for the ball. Draco wondered how long it could possibly take to get ready, but then, it wasnÂ’t so quick and easy to get dressed in these days.

With a sigh of despair, he left the dinning hall and went to find something to occupy himself and get his mind off the event of the evening.

* * *

Ginny took another bath, but this one was longer, and she was scrubbed clean by three maids, while a fourth maid continually scooped out the cooling water, and another replaced it with buckets of warm water. She could tell it was going to be a hectic day from the beginning.

SheÂ’d been hoping that sheÂ’d at least have the morning to practice dancing, but that wasnÂ’t the case. SheÂ’d somehow have to get through the evening with the limited knowledge she had. This made her grateful for the hustle and bustle of everyone pampering her to take her mind off how anxious she was.

After the bath was through, her fingers and toes were wrinkled and she smelled strongly of flowered-scented soap. Then it was back to her bed chamber to get dressed.

"When is the ball starting?" Ginny asked Maria when she finally caught sight of her. She was darting in to grab some dirty garments on the floor.

"Late afternoon," she replied absently, and left the room in a hurry.

Ginny actually wished it was Maria who was helping get her ready, but she had to settle on a half dozen younger girls, all talking quickly to one another. They dressed her in a chemise and two petticoats, yanked and squeezed her tightly into a corset, and then had her step into a wide hoop skirt. She had absolutely no desire to wear it, for it felt weird not to feel a skirt brush against her legs.

But, as she found out after sheÂ’d put on the purple and white gown, the hoop skirt was what was keeping the hem from trailing along the floor. Instead, it barely brushed it, and she was a bit relieved, glad to know that she was less likely to trip on her feet.

Her hair, once dry, was styled into a fancy, elaborate twist. Ginny was too busy concentrating on trying to breath evenly to notice how they did it, for she was afraid if she breathed too hard or quickly, she might pass out. The corset had to be so tight all her organs were squished either downwards or upwards. Surely a rib or two was broken.

Once her hair was styled, she was dabbed with powder, and it was applied so thickly it rose in clouds around her face, and she coughed. She was afraid she was going to pass out then and there, but somehow she didnÂ’t even get dizzy.

Following all of this primping, dressing, and hair-doing, Ginny finally got a moment to herself. Most of the maids that were helping her set about cleaning up, and she was able to get away and sit on the edge of her bed, and think normally.

Yet she found it difficult to think about anything but her dress. When she sat the hoop was pushed upwards, nearly as high as her naval. She pressed down on the skirt, and found the hoops were bendable, and made a silent prayer that they wouldnÂ’t snap around anyone. It would be terribly embarrassing.

DonÂ’t worry, Ginny, she told herself dryly, youÂ’ll be humiliated enough when you try to dance tonight. YouÂ’ll never get the chance to break a hoop.

Or maybe she would pass out from breathing too irregularly. That seemed like the most likely thing that would happen first.

"Highness!" Maria said sharply, appearing in the doorway. "Highness, come along! The guests will be arriving shortly!"

Alarmed, GinnyÂ’s eyes flew to the clock. Was it really four thirty already? Oh no, she moaned inwardly. Here comes humiliation.

Slowly, so as to not topple over, for then she would never be able to get back up without help, she stood and crossed the room. She attempted to walk smoothly, and gracefully, but ended up getting a giggle from Maria.

"You look as though you have a pole for a spine," she grinned. "Come along, you have a few minutes to practice walking in the hall."

Out in the corridor, Ginny paced a couple of times, listening halfheartedly to the directions Maria gave her. She was becoming very nervous, her stomach humming, her body numbing. This is going to be awful, she predicted, lifting her chin at MariaÂ’s command, and trying to walk more naturally. I canÂ’t even walk properly, much less dance.

After about ten minutes, Maria sighed and joined her at her side. "Well," she said, "it is getting better. Just do your best, dear, and at least I will be pleased."

Her warm smile calmed Ginny in the slightest. Smiling back, Ginny turned and leaned slightly over, though not too much for fear of breaking something, and gave her a hug. "Thank you, Maria," she whispered, clinging to her. She felt very uncomfortable hugging her, but it had to be because of what she was wearing. Yet it still gave her a bit of comfort, clinging to someone, and reluctantly she pulled away and straightened.

"You look very lovely, child," Maria replied quietly, squeezing GinnyÂ’s hands reassuringly. "You will do fine, I promise." Her smile grew sly. "Chances are, the men will be tripping over their feet because they will be in awe of you."

Ginny laughed, though she thought it was a very stupid thing to say. If they trip, she thought, it would probably be because their feet will have been caught in my skirt.

"Oh!" Maria suddenly exclaimed. "I almost forgot. I will be back in a moment, dear, wait here." She hurried off down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Ginny started walking again, trying to remember what Maria had told her. Chin up, face forward, chest out, shoulders back, breathe evenly but not too deeply . . . How was she supposed to remember all that when she was supposed to be recalling her dance steps?

A second later, MariaÂ’s footsteps returned, and she was holding something glittery in her hands. When she reached her, Ginny saw, to her shock, that it was a tiara. Maria, catching the expression on her face, smiled and held it up so she could see it better. Ginny was terrified to touch it; terrified she might drop and shatter it.

It was silver, with delicate swirls made of sparkling . . . "Diamonds?" Ginny asked quietly, afraid that if she spoke too loudly it might disappear. "Is it made of diamonds?"

"Of course." Maria beamed. "Lower your head, I shall put it on for you."

This time, Ginny barely noticed how much it hurt to bend over. She felt Maria place the tiara in place, then straightened when she was through. Now she would be far too worried to move too quickly, for the beautiful object might fall off.

"Do not fret about it falling off," Maria said, as if reading her mind. "There are combs on the sides, did you not see? It will hold in place securely."

"Its . . . beautiful." Beautiful seemed too weak a word.

At that very moment, Ginny fell in love with being a princess.

* * *

There was a ballroom for such occasions - a ballroom so big, Draco guessed that perhaps two, maybe three, Great Halls could fit securely in it, and still have a little room left over.

He was wearing a ridiculous green outfit - the trousers were far too tight, and the doublet was far too poofy. He felt like a scrawny-legged, barrel-chested, beer-bellied old man with a plain gold crown on his head . . . and ruffles.

But there was lots of food. And at the far end of the room was an altar, upon which he got his very own throne. GinnyÂ’s was on, where Draco was standing, the far right, with her fatherÂ’s to her right, then her motherÂ’s, then EdwardÂ’s, then ElleÂ’s, and finally, on the far left, DracoÂ’s. And, after sitting there for nearly an hour of the ball, heÂ’d been very comfortable.

Yet his empty stomach had gotten the best of him, and heÂ’d left his throne to make his way to one of the tables. Unfortunately, he knew too well, that his throne was his safety zone - no girl dared step up to ask him to dance. Once he left it, though, he was free. The bravest girl would ask him first, and that would encourage the others, and then heÂ’d be asked left and right. He needed to grab some food and hurry back.

There was one obstacle that stood in his way, though - as his eyes searched the long table piled with food, he could not, for the life of him, find a napkin. Or any rag of some sort, in which he could take a leg of meat and a couple of grapes and get back to his throne. Becoming frustrated, he was tempted to just rip a piece of the tablecloth off. Except that wouldÂ’ve been hard, since it looked like it was made of strong linen.

Sighing, Draco just grabbed an apple and headed back to the altar. On the way he was stopped for the first time.

A girl, around his age, with stick-like brown hair and wide brown eyes, wearing a pink dress, popped out of nowhere in front of him, curtsying deeply. She blocked his path, and before he could dodge around her, she was already raising her head. He couldnÂ’t leave without her noticing, and he didnÂ’t want her to think he was that big of a git. So he gritted his teeth and waited.

"Hello, Highness," she said, her voice trembling only a little. She wasnÂ’t exactly a pretty girl, for when she flashed him a shaky smile he saw a mouthful of the most crooked, yellow and gray teeth heÂ’d ever seen, but she wasnÂ’t ugly, either. "How are you fairing? I hope I find you in good health."

Draco took a big bite of the apple, trying not to wince at the taste of the skin in his mouth. He desperately wished he had a knife to skin it with, for apple skin was disgusting and tough and chewy, but he didnÂ’t, and he was stuck either with apple and its skin or an empty stomach. With his mouthful, and a slightly wrinkled nose, he replied, "IÂ’m fine, thank you. But if youÂ’ve come to talk about health maybe you should ask Princess Ginny. This is a party for her well-being, not mine."

The girlÂ’s smile faltered before it disappeared altogether. "Would you care to dance?" she asked dejectedly, knowing the answer.

"No thank you, I would like to return to my seat. Thank you," he added with a nod, and stepped around her, feeling her eyes bore into his back. He had just been as damned polite as he could possibly be, and she was still sour at him. Well, he thought, taking another bite of apple and wincing quite visibly, you canÂ’t win everyone, can you?

He was halfway to his throne when he was stopped yet again, this time by a man. For one fleeting minute Draco thought that maybe he was going to ask him to dance, but instead, the man just grinned broadly, said loudly, "Draco! How are you fairing, boy?" while clapping him on the shoulder.

The man was tall, over six feet, and broad. Draco felt short and puny beside him, especially with his stick-like legs. He had to slightly tilt his head to see his face, and no matter how many times his eyes scanned his features, the blonde hair and blue eyes, nothing struck Draco as familiar. The way he addressed Draco proved that he had to be an old friend of some sort.

Draco realized he was waiting for an answer, and hurriedly answered through a mouthful of apple, "Just fine, thank you." He swallowed before taking another bite.

The man continued to grin broadly down at him, hand still on his shoulder, continuing to wait for Draco to say something else. When he didnÂ’t, the man laughed deeply, turning towards the thrones. "Princess Ginny is looking very nice tonight," he commented, looking in her direction. She was sitting down at her throne, looking almost bored.

"Mm-hmm," Draco replied absently. The truth was, heÂ’d been trying not to think about Ginny all night. She was looking too good. It was important to keep his mind on anything besides how she was looking, for he knew very well he was feeling attracted to her. That much was clear, and he couldnÂ’t tell himself otherwise. The only way to cope was to not think about her at all.

"The big day is coming up, is it not?" the man continued, smiling in GinnyÂ’s direction for a moment more before turning back to Draco. "Only, what, ten more days?"

Draco nodded, realizing that was about right. Today was the fifteenth. There was only ten days left before he married her. It made his stomach stir unpleasantly, and he desperately wished the man would change the subject.

"Well," he said with finality, hinting the end of the conversation, "it is good to see you again, Draco. You never come out to visit me anymore, not like you did when you were younger. Do you not enjoy visiting your only uncle anymore?"

Draco just managed to stop himself from repeated, Uncle? Instead, he forced a smile. "Sorry, ER, Uncle," he said. "IÂ’ll be sure to come out someday soon."

"Good," his uncle said, clapping his shoulder on final time. "Good."

And then he blended in with the crowd.

Draco had had no idea heÂ’d had an uncle. Why hadnÂ’t Edward ever mentioned it? Well, it didnÂ’t really matter. Maybe they werenÂ’t the best of brothers. Or perhaps . . .

HeÂ’s supposed to be my motherÂ’s brother, he recognized. They definitely had the same sort of blonde hair, even if the manÂ’s was a shade or two darker.

Putting it out of his mind, Draco managed to make it back to his throne. Elle sat on hers, beside him, wearing an elaborate dress of blue velvet and a gold tiara, watching the ball with interest. She was humming along with the music, and looked as though she longed to be out there dancing.

Having enough of the revolting apple skin, Draco set the apple down between his and her thrones. Leaning over, he asked, "Why donÂ’t you find someone who will dance with you?"

Startled, she looked over at him. She smiled, but it was a sad smile. "There is no one my age here," she said with a sigh, looking out at the dancing couples once again.

Draco actually wished, if only for a second, that he knew how to dance so he could to so with her. But in an instant that wish vanished, and he leaned back and surveyed the guests.

A half hour passed, and the ball showed no signs of slowing. Glancing at the monstrous clock on the wall, Draco saw it was only seven oÂ’clock. It could go on for another three or four hours. Sighing with annoyance, Draco slid down in his seat and prayed it would end soon.

Then maybe IÂ’ll be able to get something decent to eat, he thought.

* * *

Yes! Ginny thought, glancing at the clock. ItÂ’s ten thirty and I havenÂ’t had to dance once!

The ball had to be ending soon. ItÂ’d been absolutely dull sitting on her throne the entire time, and sheÂ’d occupied herself half the time concentrating on her breathing. But it was worth it, because she hadnÂ’t had to dance.

The best thing, though, was that Tom hadnÂ’t been able to make it. That made the dress almost seem all right.

Maybe royalty is supposed to sit up on their thrones the entire time, she mused. SheÂ’d only seen her parents and DracoÂ’s father get up a couple of times, and that was to either get food or to chat with some important guest or old friend. At one point even Draco had gotten up.

Now, though, they were all sitting. And Ginny was praying and praying and praying that it would end.

She was immensely relieved when her father stood up, and at once a hush fell over the room, and the musicians stopped playing, lowering their instruments. King Robert cleared his throat, then announced in a loud, bold voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to bring an end to this wonderful evening . . ." Ginny actually snorted - it wasnÂ’t like heÂ’d done anything to make it wonderful. ". . . But I must.

"As every one of you know very well, in precisely ten days my daughter will be wed to Prince Draco Malfoy," he continued, and Ginny stopped breathing for a moment at the mention of her. Dread crept into her stomach, trickled down her spine . . . for some reason, she knew exactly what her father was going to say even before he did so. While King Robert paused to allow for soft applause, she forced herself to breathe normally. "So before you leave tonight, I would like you to remain for one last dance - one last dance of my wonderful daughter, and her fiancé."

This time the applause was louder, and Ginny blinked. This canÂ’t be happening, she thought. It had never occurred to her that she might have to dance with Draco. SheÂ’d been far too worried about being forced to partner with Tom. Since he wasnÂ’t even there, that fear had evaporated, but for some reason sheÂ’d forgotten about Draco.

Every eye was on her. It took her a moment to remember that she had to stand, and she rose, feeling about ready to faint. As she unclasped the long cape, letting drop back onto her throne, she saw that to her relief, though small as it may have been, the guests had all moved to the sides of the ballroom, leaving a large dancing space in the middle. At least, she thought, trying to swallow, weÂ’ll be dancing by ourselves.

She leaned forward slightly and glanced over at Draco, whose throne was farthest from hers. She couldnÂ’t see his face, but she could hear Elle whispering to him, and a moment later he stood as well. He looked bothered, with a trace of a scowl on his mouth, and his jaw clenched.

Of course, he also looked as composed and confident as usual. Even when he had no idea what he was doing, he managed to seem like he was.

Ginny, trying to remember how to walk in the blasted dress, went down the three stairs of the altar, reaching the hardwood floor. Draco did the same, though rather slowly. It was the first time sheÂ’d gotten to see him - really see him - and his outfit made her want to giggle like a maniac. It almost looked like he was wearing tights.

His scowl deepened when he saw her bring a hand to her mouth, trying to cover her grin. Then, the musicians started playing. Ginny felt her smile drop off her face, noticing that it was their cue to start dancing.

She figured the only dance that would go with this sort of music was a slow one. The room dimmed all at once, and she saw that the maids had snuffed many of the candles out. Feeling a chill, she made herself move towards Draco. The shadows danced across his face, the candlelight glittered on his hair, sparkled on his plain gold crown. She suddenly forgot about the amusing outfit he was wearing, and thought instantly, He looks absolutely gorgeous.

A moment later she recalled that she was the only one of them who was close to knowing how the dance went. Taking a deep breath, she stepped in front of him, the music floating around her head, making her feel as though she were in a dream. Her breathing quickened as she felt the warmth of his body, so close to hers, and took his right hand in hers, raising it slightly.

"Put your hand on my waist," she said, so quietly it was lower than whisper, afraid that people would notice that she was positioning him. He obeyed, and she placed her own hand on his arm.

Ginny began to move her feet, unsure exactly of how they were supposed to do this particular dance. Maria had only showed her the stance, not the steps. I guess weÂ’ll just have to make it up, she figured. After all, who was going to stop them just because they werenÂ’t doing the right dance moves?

At first, as they moved to the middle of the room, dancing slowly and awkwardly, she avoided DracoÂ’s eyes. She felt flushed, and warm, being so near to him, with her hand enveloped firmly in his. Her nerves seemed to tingle where his skin touched hers. SheÂ’d never really felt like this before, never felt so completely charmed by a boy. It just felt . . . right.

For the first time in a week, she felt calm; she felt like everything was right in the world. Lifting her eyes, she saw Draco staring at her - no, staring above her . . . at her tiara. He smirked when he felt her eyes on his face. "How come your crown gets diamonds?" he asked in a whisper.

She grinned, despite herself. "All you get is a plain gold one . . . and green tights." Remembering that, she burst into giggles.

"They arenÂ’t tights," he snapped defensively. "And besides, you think I picked this bloody outfit out?"

"They sure look like tights," she said through her laughter, trying desperately to stop. The expression on his face, though, just amused her more.

He glanced around, irritated, and said harshly, "Will you shut up? EveryoneÂ’s watching us. They wouldnÂ’t want to see me shove you away and make you fall."

ThatÂ’ll probably just make me laugh harder, she mused, but managed to quiet down to a mere smile. "I wish I had a camera. No one will believe me when I tell them that you actually wore . . . what youÂ’re wearing."

"ThatÂ’s right, they wonÂ’t," he sneered. "Because if you tell anyone IÂ’ll sneak into your house at night and use Permanent Dye to color your hair bright purple. And trust me, even that wonÂ’t be an improvement."

Ginny had to squeeze her mouth shut to not laugh again. She was well aware that if this had been a couple of days ago, or if theyÂ’d been in their real time, then she wouldÂ’ve been mad at that comment. But things were suddenly different now. She didnÂ’t know when things had changed, or when she had stopped hating Draco Malfoy. But suddenly, he didnÂ’t seem all that bad. In fact, she was almost glad to be with him now. At that minute she couldnÂ’t think of anyone else sheÂ’d rather be with.

They both really hadnÂ’t danced, exactly. Now they were just standing in place, sort of moving their weight from foot to foot. But no one had said anything; everyone was still watching with rapt attention, as if it was the most exciting, drama-filled experience theyÂ’d ever had.

"Have you seen Dumbledore?" Ginny asked abruptly, remembering the question sheÂ’d been meaning to ask him all day.

Draco frowned a bit and replied, "I tried to. But he wouldnÂ’t let me in."

She felt another giggle bubbling up. "WouldnÂ’t let you in?" she choked out, trying to stay sober.

He nodded, making an annoyed sound, and glanced over at the crowd of people crammed near the walls. "He told me I had to come back with you."

That didnÂ’t amuse Ginny in the slightest. "With me?"

Draco returned his narrowed eyes to hers. "Yes, Ginny, thatÂ’s what I said. You donÂ’t have to repeat everything I say."

"Sorry," she said briefly. "But did he not let you in because you had to come back with me?"

"Well, I assumed he meant you," said Draco. "He said something like, ‘Come back with the girl.’ I’m guessing that you’re ‘the girl’."

"ThatÂ’s weird," Ginny said, deep in thought. After another moment, she asked, "What did he look like? Was he . . . well, Dumbledore?"

"Yes, he was," Draco answered, the corners of his mouth lifting up slightly. "I didnÂ’t get to speak to him much, but from what I did hear he sounded like his normal, crack-pot self."

She grinned, feeling weight lifted off her shoulders. "Good. Then heÂ’ll most likely know how we got here. Or at least how to get us back."

Draco nodded distractedly, but did not reply. They were silent, the slow, almost mournful music the only sound that filled the room. Then Draco recalled something, and asked, "I thought Tom was supposed to be here."

Ginny immediately stiffened, but managed to keep her feet moving. She looked down and muttered, "He couldnÂ’t come, thank God."

"CouldnÂ’t come? As in, he wasnÂ’t invited?"

"Oh, he was invited," Ginny said bitterly, glancing up again. "My parents told me that he had another patient to attend to somewhere south. I was so happy that he wasnÂ’t coming that I didnÂ’t ask for details."

"Has he . . ." He trailed off, breaking their gaze. "Has he been bothering you?"

GinnyÂ’s jaw dropped a bit in shock, but he was looking away so he didnÂ’t see. Did Draco just ask me something . . . something that made him sound concerned? she wondered, quickly closing her mouth. Regaining her composure, she said quietly, "No, I havenÂ’t seen him since IÂ’ve gotten better." Then, in a fiercer tone, she added, "When IÂ’m queen, heÂ’s going to be thrown in the dungeon. Locked up forever. IÂ’ll never let him out again."

Draco raised a finely groomed eyebrow. "Why lock him up?"

"Because heÂ’s the one whoÂ’s been killing those families!" Ginny exclaimed, before remembering to lower her voice.

Draco gave her an odd look. "Well, I can see how you would think that, but -"

"No, Draco, I actually saw him," Ginny protested softly. "I - I dreamed about it." Suddenly, saying it out loud, it didnÂ’t seem as believable. It sounded almost absurd.

"Dreams are dreams, Ginny." He frowned. "They donÂ’t mean anything."

"But these dreams do," she insisted.

"How? How are they different than any other dream of . . . of walking into Potions naked?"

If she hadnÂ’t been trying to get such an important point across, she mightÂ’ve laughed. "Because it feels so real," she said inaudibly.

Draco heard her clearly, and let out a short laugh. "So does every other dream a person has."

"No, but IÂ’d been having the same dream for a few days in a row, the only difference being there were different people being murdered." She lowered her voice to a whisper, bringing her face closer to his. "And they started after I took that potion that Tom gave me. They ended the very day I got better. DonÂ’t you reckon thatÂ’s . . . well, weird?"

She hadnÂ’t realized how close sheÂ’d brought her face to his, because now their noses were nearly touching. A lump popped up in her throat, and she completely forgot about what sheÂ’d been trying to say. Instead, she was very aware of how his breath was on her cheek, of how their bodies were nearly totally pressed together, of how her heart was pounding irregularly. Her knees honestly felt a bit weak.

"I donÂ’t care, Ginny," he murmured.

She barely heard him. She kept imagining the feel of his mouth on hers, of her hands through his hair . . . it was hard to think of much else. Everyone in the room faded into a blur and the music seemed to melt away into nothingness. . . .

Ginny wasnÂ’t sure which one of them leaned forward, but suddenly their lips were touching, just barely. All coherent thoughts disappeared, and her pulse quickened, her skin heated . . . and yet, it wasnÂ’t even much of a kiss. His mouth was cool, but when it touched hers it seemed to burn. He brushed his lips against her own before he pulled back, making her half-closed eyelids fly up in surprise. He stepped away, dropping her hand, leaving the area of her body where his had been before feeling cold.

"The songÂ’s ended," he said quietly, and jerked his eyes away.

Ginny noticed that he was right – the music had stopped, and the musicians were lowering their instruments. She hadn’t even known . . . the rise of the guest’s voices filled the ballroom once more, and they rushed out onto the floor. She stood there, losing sight of Draco as a swarm of giggly girls surrounded her, suddenly feeling very chilly.

But, she realized, she also felt the lightest and happiest she had in a week.

And so the first, and most likely last, ball of GinnyÂ’s life ended. <