All You Need Is Love

Chapter Eleven

The Play

Over the next twenty-four hours, Ginny and Draco played exactly twenty-two games of chess, thirty rounds of cards, learned from Elle how to play dice, and then played eleven games of it.

Draco only won a single game of dice, but as Ginny had whispered something into Elle's ear, he had a sneaking suspicion that they'd let him win.

It didn't matter much, though. At least he wasn't being driven out of his mind with boredom.

"I long for summer," said Elle once, sadly. "So we can go and play outside. But winter has barely started."

I hope to be away from here by summer, Draco thought, yet only sneered, keeping it to himself.

After lunch - or what Elle called supper - Ginny's servant appeared and whisked her off to her room, claiming she needed to get ready for the play. Draco had entirely forgotten about it and wondered if he had to change, too.

Changing clothes had to be his least favorite activity of this time, which was saying a lot, because there was a great amount of things he thought boring and dull. Games included - if it weren't for his constant loosing and becoming angry and annoyed, he would be bored just about to tears. Then again if he won all the time that, too, would not be exciting in the least.

When he reached his room, Timothy was there waiting for him. The servant attempted a thin, wavering smile as Draco approached him. "What would you like to wear to the theater, Your Highness?" Though his voice was shaky, he didn't stutter once. Draco was tempted to give him a congratulatory pat on the back.

"I'll just wear what I'm already wearing," he replied.

Timothy looked him up and down, the look in his eyes clearly expressing disapproval - it was the most defiance Draco had seen in the spineless kid - but he said nothing. "As you say, Highness. The carriage departs in an hour; I sh-shall call you when it is time."

"Thanks," said Draco, watching Timothy turn and scurry down the hall.

Draco walked into the nearest room for no particular reason, already wondering what he'd do for the next hour. He glanced around quickly, noting that this room must not have been used much by royalty, because it was not lavishly furnished. The walls were bare, with only square columns attached and slightly jutting out; there was only a thin rug on the floor, no fireplace, a weak, tattered-looking sofa and sitting chair, and a table against the wall.

He turned and started to leave when something caught his eye. There was a long, dark tapestry hanging in one of the corners, between a square column and the wall beside it. Draco squinted at it, saw blurred shapes painted on it, but couldn't distinguish them without more light. The sunlight straining through the dirty window was weak.

He went back into the hall glanced around and saw a silver candelabra placed on a table against the wall. This corridor was definitely nicer than some of those he'd seen, instead of crude torches on the wall, there were candles on various tables. The queen's room must be around somewhere, Draco figured, smirking to himself, and grabbing the candelabra.

He felt silly holding it, and was slightly worried he'd drop it, because it was heavy. Stepping back into the cold, blank room, he turned towards the tapestry holding the candles up so he could see well. Tilting his head slightly he narrowed his eyes, wondering who in their sane mind would weave such a scene.

It was a scene of blood and gore; of horror and death. Several goblin-like creatures with long nails, big feet, huge fangs, and dark crimson eyes snarled at the humans. The people, who were mostly women and children, had their mouths open in silent screams, their terrified expressions visible even in the roughly sewn picture. Some of the creatures were digging their fingers into the few men and numerous women's necks, or had scratched the length of their faces. One was even cutting deep into a woman's protruding, obviously pregnant, belly.

"These people need to find new hobbies," Draco said under his breath, staring at the pictures for a moment longer.

Without even thinking much about it, he used his free hand to pull the tapestry aside. Expecting to see a wall, or maybe even a passage of some sort, he was surprised to see a chair.

"Chair?" he actually said out loud, confused. There was a nook in the wall, which recessed only a couple feet, and was just wide enough to place a high-backed, dark-green velvet chair. With the tapestry in place, the little space was invisible.

It was an odd place for someone to sit, because if they did the tapestry would bump their knees. Was this just a hiding place for the chair, maybe? Or was it of some importance?

Draco sighed and let go of the drapery, letting it fall back into place. Turning, he headed from the room, telling himself that it really wasn't that necessary to know why the armchair was in such a weird place. It didn't matter in the least.

But why was it hidden behind such a vicious looking tapestry?

* * *

Ginny felt like she was about to die. Maria had tightened her corset what seemed some twenty times tighter than normal. When she'd complained about how she couldn't breathe, the maid had said simply, "You are going to be seen out in public, Highness. You need to look fashionable."

"So you'd rather have me faint in public, in front of all those people, just so I can have an insanely . . . unhealthy . . . skinny . . . waist?" Ginny retorted through gasps.

"Oh, Highness," was the only reply she got.

In the carriage on the way to the theater (there were three other carriages for her escorts, so she didn't worry about being attacked) she sat stiffly and shifted a lot. Draco, who sat across from her as they were the only two in the carriage, noticed and gave her a crooked smirk. "Knickers riding up your arse, Ginny?" he asked.

She shot him a death look. "Shut up, Draco."

The ride took about twenty minutes - twenty minutes of pure torture to Ginny's poor sides and abdomen. When she got back to her own time, she'd be some sort of medical miracle; all her organs would be pushed around in weird places inside her.

"So are we the only ones going to this thing?" Draco asked to break the silence.

Ginny tried to reach through the layers of her clothes and pry her finger down into the top of her corset, near her armpit, to loosen it slightly. It did not work. "Well, I know Maria came, but she's in another carriage," she said, glancing down. The high collar only itched her neck more. "Why didn't Elle come?"

"She wasn't invited, was she?" Draco shot back; giving her an expression that said the reason was obvious.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Then she looked down again, once more occupied with her damned corset. She tried to tug on the front of it, above her breasts, and gave a loud sigh. "My boobs are secure. They aren't going to move at all tonight, that's for sure," she said.

"Like me to loosen something there for you?" Draco asked innocently.

"Bugger off," Ginny snapped.

The carriage finally pulled to a stop, and someone outside opened the door. A young man stood like a statue beside the door. For a moment Ginny was unsure of what to do, and Draco went ahead and got out himself. As she started to stand up, the man offered his hand and she used him for balance in her heavy skirts as she dropped out ungracefully.

They were right near the entrance of the theater, and already there was a crowd waiting to get inside. Everyone seemed to hush when Ginny stepped out, and she felt all eyes on her. She blushed hotly, aware that her jumping from the carriage was definitely not something that someone of her position would do.

"Need an arm, Your Highness?"

Ginny jerked her head at the familiar voice, seeing that Tom Riddle had appeared at her side from nowhere. Her breath caught in her throat, and her blood froze instantly. His beautiful eyes locked with hers, and she shivered involuntarily.

Oh no, she thought. What's he doing here? I refuse to have him here!

What could she do, though? While she stood there like an idiot, gaping, he took her silence as yes and grinned, tucking her hand around his arm. His touch was warm, human, very unlike when he was touching her while she lay hot and sickly in bed. The heat of him seemed to snap her out of her frightened state, and she glanced over at Draco. He stood facing them, on Ginny's other side, and he was staring at Tom with an unreadable expression and slightly narrowed eyes.

"Your Highness?" Tom asked, giving her a funny look. "Shall we proceed?" He gestured to the theater.

Ginny took a deep breath and snatched her arm from his, hurriedly thinking of an excuse. "Actually," she said smoothly, even able to turn the corner of her mouth up into what resembled a smile, "I already promised Draco he would escort me in. Right, Draco?"

She didn't wait for his answer; she grabbed his arm and started walking as quickly as she could. There was a thin walkway between the crowds that they managed to maneuver, entering the theater before any of them.

Inside the plain looking lobby, she spotted Francis, who saw her and grinned. He waved them over.

"Who's that?" Draco whispered.

"Francis. A Lieutenant. My mother has a sort of crush on him --"

"Who's the ugly girl next to him?"

Ginny glanced to Francis' side, and as they walked over, had to congratulate Draco's description of who had to be Elsabeth. She was ugly. There wasn't really one thing Ginny could pinpoint that made the poor girl so hideous. She couldn't say it was her nose, even though it was a bit on the big side. And she couldn't say it was her eyes, which were such a pale blue they looked freakish against her even paler skin. It wasn't exactly her thin lips, either. There was just an essence she had that reeked ugliness.

It didn't do her any good that she looked as though she hadn't bathed in a year, either. Her stringy hair that must have once been blonde hung limply around her white cheeks.

Ginny had a sneaking suspicion she wasn't wearing a corset either, even though her waist looked slimmer than Ginny's felt.

"Your Highnesses," Francis said, smiling widely as they reached him. He focused his eyes on Draco. "You do remember my lovely daughter, Elsabeth, don't you?"

Draco gave Elsabeth a tight-lipped smile. "Of course I do," he said falsely.

She gave him a brief, unsure smile, revealing her yellowed teeth. She seemed so timid and sweet; Ginny was tempted to smack Draco for being rude.

"We are going to go in first," Francis announced, glancing over Ginny's shoulder. She turned and saw that nearly all her escorts had come in, Tom and Maria included. She suppressed a groan; the Queen had insisted the castle's regiment accompany Ginny to the play.

A man who must've owned the theater led them up to their box, which had three rows of about seven seats. The theater itself was rather plain actually, the only color being the red velvet seats. The stage looked bare with a dark curtain, drawn.

Ginny was sure she was not sitting anywhere near Tom. She ended up sitting in the first row, between Francis and Elsabeth; Elsabeth was on the very end. Draco sat on the other side of Francis, and Tom sat beside him. The rest of Ginny's escort waited out in the hall, because they had not been invited to view the play.

Ginny was tempted to insist Maria stay, but the maid disappeared before she could say anything.

She was planning to sit in silence and watch the theater fill up, but Elsabeth leaned over and said quietly, "Have you not yet let go that wicked maid?" Her voice was quiet, whispery.

Ginny looked at her, her eyebrows knitted together in surprise. "You mean Maria?" she asked. "Let her go?"

"Of course, your decision it is, Your Highness," Elsabeth said hastily, attempting a watery smile. Then she turned and faced forward again, leaving Ginny puzzled as to her meaning.

Before she could dwell on it, several other people came into the box, and greeted her. They all bowed, or curtsied, the men told her how breathtaking she looked, and the women declared how wonderful her dress was. Ginny had not the slightest idea who any of them were, but smiled and nodded at them, Elsabeth's odd statement now pushed from her conscious mind.

Up until the performance started, trails of High Society came to Ginny, and after they saw her, they walked down the line to speak with Draco. At one point she caught his eye, and he lifted his brow briefly in an expression of boredom, causing her to smile.

At last, everyone had left. Or, rather, those who remained had sat down in the other seats in the box and were no longer bothering Ginny. Sighing in relief, she tried to sink back in her chair, only to be pinched by her underclothes. She straightened once again.

It came as a surprise when the curtain suddenly rose, and a hush of silence rippled through the theater. Ginny had been expecting the candles to be blown out, but when the first scene began, all the candles were still burning. Must be because there isn't enough light on the stage, she figured.

That wasn't the only thing that was unexpected. She'd been anticipating grand costumes, and elaborate sets, for no reason other than if Shakespeare himself was running this performance; he probably wanted nothing but the best for his play. But the outfits the actors wore looked common, not even as fine as what Ginny herself was wearing. The background was rather plain, with no props.

Confused, Ginny wondered if maybe this wouldn't be such a grand affair after all.

But the first lines of the play proved that she was mistaken.

“Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

Draws on apace: four happy days bring in

Another moon; but O! methinks how slow

This old moon wanes; she lingers my desires,

Like to a step-dame, or a dowager

Long withering out a young man’s revenue.”

The actor spoke with such feeling, and used such emotion that Ginny realized instantly the show would be absolutely stunning. She was mesmerized in only a few moments.

But no matter how wonderful it was she was not comfortable. Having to sit still for such a long time was killing her. She would have to get up soon and go for a walk, and she knew it.

The scene changes were subtle, without the aid of a curtain, yet Ginny understood what was happening. She was very surprised at the professionalism of everyone who helped with the performance. She didnÂ’t think people during this time were serious about acting. Obviously, she was wrong.

Finally, towards the end of the first scene of the third act, Ginny could stand it no longer. She leaned over and whispered to Francis, “I need to get some air,” and stood up, forcing herself to be graceful. Then she swept out of the box, feeling the eyes of some of the others sitting nearby upon her. Well, those women were used to corsets; they’d just have to accept that she wasn’t.

Even in the deserted lobby, she could hear Titania saying from the theater, “Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower . . .”

Ginny paced a bit, using her hands to try and shift the corset around. Nothing seemed to work. She couldnÂ’t get any relief from her bloody clothes. The minute she got back to her castle, she decided, sheÂ’d rip everything off and sleep naked. Right then sheÂ’d give her right arm just to be able to wear jeans and a T-shirt.

“Is there anything wrong, Your Highness?” asked somebody behind her.

Ginny jumped and spun around. It was Tom. She hadnÂ’t heard him enter the lobby. Quickly, she glanced around, praying there was someone else nearby. There wasnÂ’t. She was alone with him, and that feeling did not settle well in her stomach. It bubbled unpleasantly, only aggravating her comfort level.

“Why are you out here?” she asked hurriedly, looking over his shoulder. He was coming from the one direction she could run to be near people, where he wouldn’t hurt her; it was either dodge by him or turn and run out of the theater. If she chose the latter, he’d chase after her and win.

“You looked a bit pale when you left the box,” he said, his entire face creased into a smile. She couldn’t tell if she liked the way he was staring at her or not. “I came to see if you are all right.”

“I’m fine,” she told him, very fast. “You can go. I just wanted to stretch my legs.”

“You fear me.” It wasn’t a question, or a statement. It was a fact, and he knew it. “Why?”

She met his eyes, this time willing herself not to look away. She strengthened her chin and replied firmly, “Do you really need to ask?”

“Yes.”

Ginny sucked in a breath. His smile had faded; he looked serious. Though if he was angry, he didn’t show it. “You’re a murderer.”

She expected him to deny it. She expected his face to wrinkle in concern and surprise, for his beautiful eyes to widen and radiate hurt. But instead, he did exactly as she shouldÂ’ve thought he would.

He smiled. A chilling smile, its icy grip seemed to be reaching her bones. Crossing his arms, his spidery fingers splayed over his black-sleeved arms, he took a step forward. Involuntarily, she stepped back.

“You’re not stupid, are you, Ginny?” he asked softly, his voice caressing her dangerously. It caused the little hairs on the back of her neck to prick up. He took another step towards her. “You recognized me the moment you saw me.”

She tried to swallow and failed. Her mind was having trouble thinking rational thoughts, much less speaking them. Instead, she fumbled backwards until her back hit a wall. Then she found she could not command her legs to move at all.

"You know what I am," he said slowly, his smile fading. "That you don't belong here -- that I don't belong here either."

He didn't stop walking until he stood right before her, his gaze trapping hers. She couldn't look, couldn't move away even though she desperately wanted to. He was casting some sort of spell on her, keeping her bewitched, and she didn't know how to stop it.

She managed to swallow, and found her voice as well. "You brought us here," she said, proud of her steady, sharp tone.

"Yes." A faint grin crossed his features.

"How? In our -- in my time, you're dead. Both forms of you." Ginny tried to melt into the wall, to disappear. She didn't succeed.

"I'll tell you everything," he murmured, taking one final step and closing all space between them. His body against hers was warm, but terrifying. She was repulsed by him, wanted him away from her, but he now had her pinned. Now she regretted letting herself be backed up to the wall. Why was she acting so stupid? "I’ll tell you everything," repeated Tom, and then added, “but not yet.”

She was having trouble breathing. She commanded herself to relax, and think of a way out of this. If she let him make her frightened every time she saw him or was near him, he would dominate her. He would control her. She couldn't allow that. She had to show him that he didn't scare her.

Even if he did.

"Why not now?" she whispered, but firmly. She quickly ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. "It's as good a time as any, don't you reckon?"

"You'll miss the play," he replied in a velvety soft voice. His eyes now held a hungry look in them, and it only caused her heart to thud harder in fear.

"It doesn't matter," she said, slowly bringing her hands up. She placed her palms on his chest, and when she did, he grinned at her. "So step back and tell me -- why did you bring Draco and me here?"

As she started to push him away, his own hands snapped up and he wrapped his fingers around her wrists. She let out a cry of shock as he gripped them hard, his face suddenly full of fury. He pulled her palms away from him and slammed them against the wall, her wrists parallel with her shoulders. Terror filled her again, and she forced herself not to show it. It took most of her strength to keep a calm face, even though she was positive her eyes gave away how she really felt.

"There is one thing you've got to learn about me, Ginny," he said venomously. He suddenly reminded her of a snake, his eyes narrowed and tinted red with anger. "You don't tell me what you want me to do. That's what annoys me greatest, Ginny, and you don't want to annoy me."

"You're hurting me," she said quietly.

And then he was grinning again, madly, with his eyes still slightly red. He leaned his face beside hers and drawled in her ear, "I haven't hurt you nearly enough."

By the time he met her gaze she had summoned her anger, and was glaring at him. Don't let him see your fear, she instructed herself. "If you don't release me this instant," she told him viciously, "I'll scream. And no high opinion of my mother will save you from your fate if you're found harming a princess."

He only smiled, almost serenely, at her. "Don't you understand, Ginny?" he asked softly. "I own this world. It does not exist. I created it. I can control it, and because of that, I'm more powerful than your mother."

Ginny swallowed thickly at that, unsure of how to answer. She forgot to disguise her fright . . . and then, she thought of something. "If you created it," she began shakily, "then why did you include --"

"Ginny," said another very familiar voice.

Draco.

Tom dropped her wrists, stepped away from her swiftly, and turned casually. Draco crossed the lobby, with his usual stride, and had a sober expression on his face. He stopped beside Tom. "Having fun?" he asked darkly.

Ginny had never been so happy to see him in her life. Instantly she forgot about asking Tom why he'd included Dumbledore in this world if he'd created it, and hurried to Draco's side. "I found who brought us here, Draco," she said, feeling much safer now that he was there.

Draco eyed Tom, who smirked at him. He announced smoothly, "If you will excuse me, I am missing the performance." Without another word or glance he swept by them and left the lobby, and Ginny's fear flew out the door with him.

"Once again, you've managed to come at a good time, but I still could've used you a few minutes earlier," Ginny said to Draco.

"What was he doing?" he asked.

"Just threatening me. Admitting he was a killer, and to bringing us here," she said with a shrug as if it were no big deal. "He said he made this world."

Draco nodded, before he, too, thought of Dumbledore. "So if he made it, then why is Dumbledore here?"

"I was about to ask him that," said Ginny, "but you interrupted us."

He smirked. "Next time I'll be sure to let you finish your conversation," he sneered.

She chose to ignore him. "If he put Dumbledore here, then that must mean that we can't trust him."

"Can't trust Dumbledore?"

"Well, do you think Tom would put a good Dumbledore in this world, one that could help us?" she inquired. "He's obviously trying to make everyone in this time against us. Harry, my parents . . . and he was probably the one who had Alexandria move. And then made all the townspeople forget about her ever being there."

"I just don't understand why he'd do that," Draco said.

"Neither do I," she admitted. "He didn't explain it."

"Before we leave this place, he will," Draco swore.

"But . . ." Ginny bit her lower lip, her thoughts depressing her. "If he runs this world, there's no way we can leave. Not without his help, at least. And he brought the both of us here for a reason. Do you really reckon he'd let us go to our own time just because we wanted to?"

Draco stared at her, knowing she was right. "We'll find a way," he said.

Ginny reluctantly nodded, though she wasn't very reassured. It wasn't until they were walking back to their box that she realized he’d said, "We'll find a way". He'd finally figured that he'd have to help her get out of this world.

Even though now she was not sure if the both of them combined could get themselves out.

* * *

Once Draco returned to his seat, he glared at Tom, received only ignorance in return and found he couldn't enjoy the performance. His mind was racing with thoughts, uneasy ones that made him uncomfortable.

Ginny had a point. If Tom had created this world, there was no way they could leave. He had brought them, the only two who knew they were from the future, for some reason. Most likely, it wasn't a good one. Probably one that was evil and would end up having the entire world as Slaves For Riddle.

After what seemed like hours, the play finally ended. The applause was deafening, and lasted for several minutes. Draco remained in his seat while everyone around him stood up, even Ginny, though her face was shadowed, indicating her mind was not on how wonderful the performance had been.

Finally, it was time to leave. Draco rose, only to find that several more important people were coming to say farewell. For another five minutes he frowned and said goodbye to just about everyone who bowed to him.

"Come, Your Highness," Francis grinned at Ginny, gesturing her to leave the box before him. "Mr. Shakespeare would like to meet you, if you have the time."

"No, she doesn't," snapped Draco, eager to leave. For some reason, he didn't like Tom anywhere near her. It made him edgy.

Ginny clenched her jaw together and fired a look at Draco, clearly telling him to shut up. Then she gave Francis a very forced smile. "Sure," she told him. "But let's make it quick."

So Draco followed Ginny, Francis, his ugly daughter, and a couple of escorts back stage. Draco searched around for the man he'd seen in drawings, wearing grand clothes and brown hair. However, the person who walked to Ginny was tall, skinny, and old. His hair was pure white, and his clothes were actually a bit ratty, as if he hadn't changed in a couple of days.

But the minute he saw Ginny, he dropped to one knee and held out a hand. She started at him for a moment, before giving him her fingers to kiss, turning red.

"Your Highness, I am glad you have come this evening," he said, and got to his feet. He spotted Draco and bowed deeply. "As you well," he added.

Draco nodded once to show he'd heard him. Only Shakespeare would say something like, As you well.

"Would you like a tour of the theater?" he asked politely.

Ginny looked uncertain, and Draco tried to catch her eye and shake his head to tell her to say no, but she didn't glance back at him.

However, she managed to find it in her to live up to her snobby reputation and declined - though she did it kindly. "Actually, I'm really tired. May I take a rain check?"

Shakespeare raised his eyebrows, clearly not understanding what she meant. Ginny turned an even deeper red, and quickly added, "I'll come by some time after the wedding."

"Very good, Your Highness." His tiny, but warm, smile returned, and he bowed one final time. Then Francis took Ginny by the elbow, completely ignoring his daughter, and led her out of the theater.

* * *

Ginny couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, wrapped snugly in her many covers, the wood smoldering in the fireplace. But her mind was racing with what Tom had told her.

What could she do about him and their situation? Nothing? Was she just going to allow herself to give up and accept that there wasn't anything she or Draco could possibly do?

There has to be something, she argued in her mind. There must be some way.

And what if Dumbledore wasn't evil? Would that make any sense? Tom purposely putting him in this world to make it easier for her? No, it didn’t make sense. There was only one thing that was to be concluded, and that was Dumbledore wouldn't help them. Besides, how would she know to trust him or not? She wouldn't; there was no way she could be absolutely sure if he would be on her side. She just couldn’t get help from him.

Ginny sat up, sighing. She was feeling restless, and a bit smothered. Throwing the blankets off, she reached for her dressing robe and a pair of what she thought was the equivalent of slippers and put them on. Then she stepped out into the silent, chilly hall.

It was so dark, quiet and still that Ginny just about had a heart attack and died when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Managing to keep her scream locked in her throat, she spun around, only to see the reassuring face of Maria.

"Child, what are you doing up at this hour?" she whispered.

Ginny looked her from head to toe, placing a hand over her heart to try and slow its beating. Maria was still dressed in her day clothes. "I couldn't sleep. Do you ever sleep?" She was a bit breathless from the scare.

Even in the pale light, she saw Maria smile. "There is no time for sleep, Highness. I am still preparing for the wedding and it is a lot of work."

Ginny felt a surge of anger at her mother for working her servants so hard. She placed a hand on Maria's shoulder. "Go to bed, Maria," she ordered gently. "I don't care about the wedding very much anyway."

"You say that now, but if everything is not perfect on Christmas, you shall regret what you told me," she insisted.

"Just retire for the night, okay?" Ginny asked, wrapped her dressing robe around her tighter. "I'm just going to go for a short walk before I go back to bed, too."

"All right, Your Highness. But you should get some sleep as well, you know. You still need to regain your strength from that sickness you had."

"Yes, Maria," said Ginny, smiling her goodbye before she turned and left.

Ginny already knew that she was heading outside, but when she entered the main hall, she saw that several men were guarding the door. Frowning, she turned and tried to find another exit, thinking there had to be one in the kitchen or nearby.

The kitchen was dark and deserted, this time Ginny was sure; she didn't want to have Draco pop out of nowhere again and fall on top of her. Well, the falling-on-top part wouldn't be so bad, but she'd already nearly wet her knickers when Maria tapped her on the shoulder, and having someone jump out of nowhere would definitely do the trick.

Just as she'd thought, there was a door leading outside in the kitchen, and it was unguarded.

She slipped out into the cold, calm night, shivering as soon as the air slapped against her cheeks.

Walking away from the castle, crunching over the now ice-hard snow, she looked up at the sky. It was clear, with a million stars sparkling like diamonds in the black velvet. Here, there were no Muggle lights to drown out the beauty of the night. Despite the low temperature, Ginny smiled and enjoyed the tranquility of the world.

She stopped near the edge of the garden, sitting down on a stone bench. More thoughts filled her head, ranging from the thrilling thought of meeting Shakespeare to the terrifying one that she and Draco may never be able to return to their time.

What would she do if she were forced to stay? Would she marry Draco and raise kids and rule the country just like she was supposed to? And always know that Tom was nearby and could do whatever he wanted to her life?

Or would she run away? Leave every responsibility she would have if she married, and try to hide from Tom? That's not possible, she realized. If Tom controls this world, he'll be able to find me. Easily.

She sighed deeply, wondering why everything was suddenly so complicated for her. Every solution she thought up wouldn't work. She was stuck and didn't know how to free herself.

"You'll catch pneumonia again if you stay out here, you know."

Ginny jumped at Draco's voice, turning her head to see him emerge from the shadows of the castle. He was still dressed, his expression blank, and his breath coming out in clouds. He stopped in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I just needed to think," she told him, glancing down at her fingers in her lap. She picked at her nails. "It's nice out here."

"It's freezing out here," he corrected, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then he changed the subject. "What were you thinking about?"

"What I always think about," she replied automatically.

"Harry?" In the starlight she saw him smirking.

"No," she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "I am thinking of how to get out of here."

"First maybe we should figure out what Riddle wants us here for in the first place," said Draco wisely.

"Okay. Go and ask him," she said, not intending to sound so sharp.

"He seems to like you better," he sneered.

She glared before softening her gaze and sighing. "This is so hopeless. Do you have any ideas of how the hell to get out of here?"

"None."

"You boast about how Slytherins always come up with the best plans. So why can't you?"

"I lied," he replied smoothly. "The Ravenclaws are the clever ones."

"Oh, that really helps our situation," she mumbled, resting her elbow on her thigh and dropping her chin into her hand. "Are you even trying to think of some way?"

"No, I want to stay here," he said, and she glanced up at him, only to find him smirking. "Of course I've tried. But I can't think of anything more than you can."

She sighed again and stood up, meeting his eyes. "We'll just have to keep thinking," she said with a shrug. "I don't know about you, but I'm not going to stay in this world and let us be married."

An emotion flashed through his depthless gray eyes, but it flickered by so quickly she couldn't grasp what it was. In a moment it was gone, replaced by his usual expressionless glance. "I couldn't agree more," he told her effortlessly.

She realized then how close they really were; their bodies only inches apart. Her heart began to race, and she flushed, feeling chills on her skin. Why did he have to be so damn gorgeous? Why couldn't she get the thought of his lips out of her mind?

"I mean," she began breathlessly, "even if we do get married, it's not like it'll count in the future. Some day we'll have to get back, you know, and if we get married here, we won't necessarily be married now. Or four hundred years from now." She was well aware she was rambling, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she kept on talking just to fill the silence. "I always told myself I wouldn't get married before I was twenty, or twenty-five, and seventeen is not the age I even considered when I was thinking about --"

"Ginny, will you shut up?" He was smirking at her; silently mocking her.

"Okay," she breathed, and kissed him.

At first it was slow, and warm, and wonderful. She hadn't forgotten what it was like to be kissed by him, hadn't forgotten the familiar knee-weakening feel she got when she was pressed against him. She thought hazily to herself, This is how I want to be kissed for the rest of my life.

His hands went to her shoulders, his fingers tangled in her hair. As the kiss deepened, she placed her palms on his cheeks as if to hold him to her, before she slid her arms around his neck and held him close. She never wanted him to stop, never wanted to let him go, but he pulled away suddenly. The abruptness sliced through her like a knife, as if reminding her how carried away she was getting.

"I thought you told me not to do this," he whispered, his breath on her cheek. His eyes bore into hers. They were dark and questioning.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she admitted quietly.

He gave her a tiny lopsided grin. "But you want to." It was a statement.

"Don't you?" Her gaze searched his.

"Let's just think about something," he said, the amusement clear in his eyes. "There's no possible way we can leave here before we get married."

She looked confused. "Yes . . ."

"So if we are to be married, why not practice?" He didn't even wait for her reply. Instead, his mouth was on hers in an instant, his tongue pushing between her lips. The sensation of it removed all thoughts off her mind, and she didn't have a chance to digest what he'd said.

They were so absorbed in each other, so oblivious to all that was around them; they didn't notice somebody staring down at them from a second-story window.

Tom's teeth glittered in the pale light, as though he was smiling, but the look on his face did not resemble happiness. It was almost like mad glee. He let the heavy drapes fall into place, and whispered something to the short, round person who stood beside him.

"It's working."