Ginny Weasley and the Heirs of Darkness

"Stop!" Ginny had halted her broom and was hovering in mid-air, shivering, her eyes crackling with undisguised fury. Draco had never realized that the normally warm brown shade could look so coldly livid.

Draco turned to stare at her. "What?" he asked, clearly discomfited by this mercurial change of mood.

"Before you say anything further, Draco Malfoy, you will promise to never, ever utter that word again," Ginny said severely. "I don't just mean in my presence, I mean ever. It's a vile, horrible word, and I'm quite serious- I won't kiss a mouth that says things like that."

Draco's eyes had widened in surprise at her vehemence. "Fine," he said slowly. He knew he could trim it out of his vocabulary when Ginny was around, but to drop it entirely? 'Mudblood' was commonly bandied about in the Slytherin dungeons. Even Damian Godswift let it slip out from time to time, and his grandfather was Muggle-born. Well, what Ginny didn't know couldn't hurt Draco. He'd just have to be careful around her. "Back to your cousins," he said pointedly, reminding her that they were discussing something important. "I just didn't think it was possible at first. Your whole family is a bunch of goody-goody Dumbledore supporters-"

"Thanks," Ginny interjected wryly.

"-and I don't know if you know this, but the Belletons are the pureblood wizards in France." A smile played at the corners of Draco's mouth. "The French Malfoys, so to speak."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fine. So I'm distantly related to a pair of Slytherin gits-" Draco shot her an irritated look that she ignored, "-but why is that such an important secret that you had to drag me all the way out here- in the freezing cold, I might add-"

"I'd explain everything if you'd quit interrupting!" he snapped in response. "Vesta Calda."

Warmth spread through Ginny's clothes; even the tips of her gloves tingled with heat. "Thank you," she said quietly, offering him one of her rare appreciative smiles.

He nodded curtly, refusing to let her sudden charm distract him. "To return to the subject," he said somewhat waspishly, "do you recall that silly oath you made me swear?"

A cold hand of fear clutched at Ginny's heart and squeezed, until it felt like her veins were pumping ice water instead of blood. Every remaining vestige of her bantering mood evaporated in that instant. "Draco- my family- what is your father planning?"

To Ginny's disgust, he actually had the gall to smirk blandly at her. "Against the Weasleys? Nothing."

"But-" Then a light dawned in Ginny's dark eyes, and Draco knew she finally understood.

"He's plotting against the Belletons," she stated, almost as if she had to hear herself say it. "My 'family.' But that doesn't make sense- aren't they in league together?"

Draco just shrugged. "With my father, who knows? All I know is that he asked me to keep an eye on the twins. But there are layers to everything he does. Think about his weird obsession with you."

"I try not to, actually," Ginny muttered in an undertone.

"In any case, I didn't want to tell you all this, but I realized I had to." Draco frowned. "I don't know, however, if it connects to the dragon pox and your brother being attacked, and before you even ask, no, I don't know if it's connected to the Dark Lord."

"I wasn't going to ask," Ginny replied. "Draco, I- thank you for telling me. I mean, I know you had no choice, but still. I appreciate it." She hesitated. "Why today, though? Did you just hear something from your father?"

Draco muttered something unintelligible.

"What?" Ginny asked. His words had been whipped away by the wind.

He sighed. "I said, it finally got to the point where the oath wouldn't let me sleep at night. I've been awake for three days straight."

Ginny wanted to be furious with him, but the only emotion she could muster was vague amusement. "Good to know we have such an honest relationship," she said with a sigh, turning her broom back in the direction of the castle.

***

Harry shrugged into his Invisibility cloak, reveling in the familiar liquid feel of it against his skin. I can't believe I'm about to do this, he marveled. Harry Potter had, in his short life, done any number of remarkable things. But if someone had told him a year ago that he'd someday have a secret assignation in the Astronomy Tower with a Slytherin Ginny Weasley lookalike, he'd never have believed it.

Of course, one year ago, he wouldn't even have believed that he'd be in love with Ginny Weasley. A year ago, she was still Ron's little sister who had a crush on him. She'd showed up briefly on his radar when she dated Seamus Finnigan, but even that had only been due to relief; he remembered feeling thankful that she was no longer his little shadow.

When did I fall in love with her? he wondered as he tiptoed down the stairs out of the boys' dormitory and crept silently through the common room. Because there was no doubt in Harry's mind that it was, indeed, love; Harry had been the recipient of so little love that he recognized it when it made rare appearances in his life.

He had told Hermione that he fell for Ginny during the battle with Voldemort last year, but in truth, he really had no idea. One day, he had just started noticing her. When he'd told Ron, his best mate had been gleeful, encouraging him to act immediately.

Ron... that was another thing that rankled about this whole Ginny affair. Now, not only did Harry not have Ginny, but he also had neither of his best friends. Ron still wasn't speaking to Harry (or, as far as Harry knew, to Hermione, either), and Hermione had seemed so wounded by the whole affair that she had simply retreated into her studies.

Harry knew he should place most of the blame at Ginny's feet; after all, she had been the one to break off their relationship; she had been the one to tell the lies that hurt Hermione and Ron. But, irrationally, Harry was furious, not with Ginny, but with Malfoy.

Georgine had told him that was perfectly normal. "Of course you're angry with him," she'd said firmly, twining a lock of long red hair around her finger. "He stole your girlfriend from you, he might even have her under a curse, and he's basically ruined your life. I'd say you have more than just cause."

Harry considered her words as he crept through the common room; he was so lost in thought that it took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Back-lit by the crackling flames from the fireplace were two very familiar silhouettes- Ron and Hermione, their faces aglow with more than just firelight.

Ashamed by his desire to eavesdrop, Harry nonetheless slipped closer to his friends, trying to catch the words passing between them.

"-since the moment Ginny told me it was all a lie, Hermione- I- I've felt terrible," Ron was stammering. "I'm so sorry." His face was rosy with embarrassed chagrin.

One of Hermione's small hands cupped his cheek, and she made a shushing sound. "It's alright. When she apologized to me, I told her not to bother telling me, because you don't trust me." She sighed softly. "But, Ron, you do trust me, don't you?" Harry could hear the hope in her voice, and he prayed Ron wouldn't say something he'd regret.

"Of course I do" was the simple, grateful reply. Hermione's face broke into a delighted grin, and she threw her arms around a surprised and very happy Ron. After a long moment, he finally wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. Joy bubbled up inside of Harry- Ron and Hermione together was the way things were supposed to be. If things were right between the two of them, surely Harry could fix the problems between himself and Ginny as well.

Hermione gently disentangled herself from Ron's embrace. "Have you spoken with Harry yet?" she asked. "I'm sure he misses you, too."

"Not yet." Ron tentatively slid his fingers under her chin. "Harry can wait. He's probably asleep, anyway." He blushed. "It was you I really wanted to talk to, Hermione-"

Harry scowled. Apologizing to him could wait, could it? Ron and Hermione didn't think that repairing their friendship with Harry, something so old, deep, and strong that it had carried them through all their years at Hogwarts together, was as important as cuddling in the common room?

"No more talking," Hermione whispered, interrupting him and bossily talking the initiative like she always did. For once, Ron didn't argue with her; his lips met hers with equal force, and his arms snaked around her once again.

Suddenly, Harry didn't feel as happy as he had. Here were his friends, blissfully happy with each other, not caring that Harry was, in fact, not asleep, and was miserable about the fact that he didn't have Ron, Hermione, or Ginny in his life. Anger suddenly throbbing in his ears, Harry stormed out of the common room, slamming the portrait behind him and hoping it gave the happy couple matching "his" and "hers" heart attacks.

***

Cho rested her head on her arms, willing the exhaustion to seep out of her and into the hard wooden surface of the table. She was always so tired; in fact, she couldn't remember a time this year when she hadn't been tired. If it wasn't Head Girl duties (which reminded her, she owed Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley a nasty note each for missing today's meeting), it was Quidditch practice, or concerns over the dragon pox, or caring for the Stavanger Stallions Hagrid had left in her care, or some other aspect of her responsibilities as the Care of Magical Creatures teaching assistant.

Tonight it had been correcting homework for Charlie's classes. She didn't really mind doing it, but she was starting to resent the fact that, recently, correcting homework had been her sole interaction with her boyfriend. Raising her head, she scowled down at the stack of sixth-year essays on Black Forest Dopplegangers. Giving Lavender Brown a mark of "E," she moved on to the next parchment. "Draco Malfoy" was scrawled boldly across the top. She sighed. Maybe she'd write those nasty notes now, and save the corrections for later. In all fairness, she shouldn't be marking Draco's essay when she was irritated with him, anyway.

Taking a fresh sheet of parchment, Cho dipped her quill in angry red ink and began to write.

Draco:

Please be forewarned that, because of past behavior and today's absence from the prefects' meeting, your badge is in jeopardy. I am placing you on probation, which means that any further misbehavior on your part will result in prefects' privileges being offered to another Slytherin sixth-year.

-Cho Chang, Head Girl

Cho finished the note with a flourish, re-reading it and nodding her approval. Sufficiently harsh, she felt.

"Ah, coldly reproachful. That's a definite turn-on," said a voice from behind her.

"Not for Draco, I hope," Cho replied, turning to see Charlie standing behind her. He looked as tired as she felt, but his rakish grin told her that he was feeling better than he had been in recent weeks. That was one frustratingly deceptive facet of the dragon pox; sometimes it struck hard, and on other days, the person seemed perfectly healthy. Pushing away both the papers and her exhaustion with a strong shove, Cho resolved to enjoy the brief moment while it presented itself. "You seem like you're feeling better."

He nodded, taking a seat beside her. "Hermione and Sna- Severus, I mean- it is so odd to call him that- and I actually made some progress today, for the first time in months. It's enough to make anyone feel better."

Cho leaned her head against his shoulder. "Do you think you'll have a cure any time soon?"

Her head bobbed slightly as he shrugged. "I think so. Merlin knows I have reason enough to hope we will," he said dryly. "Not just for myself, but for Ron, too, and Katie...." He turned to look at her, and she reluctantly lifted her head, knowing what was coming. "Cho?" he asked. "What is it between you and Katie?"

"A long history of irritation," Cho said lightly, hoping to change the subject. She and Charlie had had this conversation before. She knew Charlie really liked Katie Bell, remembering her as a cute first-year Gryffindor Quidditch fanatic, and Cho did not want to discuss her Katie issues with him.

"Cho," Charlie repeated gently. "Please."

Cho stared at her hands for a moment, as if they could offer her some sort of a diversion. At last, she sighed. "Well, you remember the Death Eater trials."

Charlie nodded, wondering what this could possibly have to do with the animosity between Cho and Katie. "I was seven. Mum and Dad listened to the news on WWN incessantly."

"Well, the Ministry only publicized the truly scandalous ones, the ones that would cast the Ministry in a positive light for catching such dangerous murderers: people like the Lestranges. But there were other trials, too, held late at night, and not presented before the Wizengamot; these trials were for Ministry employees caught working for Voldemort. The Ministry couldn't afford to have the information of such betrayals leak out, which is why these people couldn't be tried by the Wizengamot. Instead, a special team of jurors were chosen. My father was on that panel."

Charlie's brow was furrowed, but he nodded again, encouraging her to continue. "Alright, go on."

"One of the Ministry employees my father's panel tried was Philip Bell."

Now Charlie looked dubious. "Cho, Philip Bell is a friend of my father's. He still works at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Transportation. He can't have been a Death Eater."

Cho shot him an exasperated look. "Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, and he still prances about the Ministry as if he owns it, doesn't he?"

"Point taken," Charlie admitted. "But- Philip Bell?"

Cho nodded. "My father had very persuasive evidence proving his guilt, but just a day before the trial, sh- it mysteriously disappeared. Philip Bell was not only released, but was reinstated in his position. There are a handful of similar stories, but they were all covered up."

Charlie was quiet for a moment. "Cho, who was your father's persuasive evidence?"

Cho wouldn't meet his eyes; her gaze was rigidly fixed on the fireplace. "Marilyn Bell."

***

Sighted outside of Gringott's Bank today was Julia Wickett, the hottest singing sensation to hit the WWN since Celestina Warbeck. The lovely Miss Wickett graced the arm of none other than the infamous Sirius Black, who, though he was cleared of all murder charges last year, still inspires fear in the hearts of many in the wizarding community.

The photo showed Sirius, handsomely dressed in a well-cut black suit that was surely too expensive for his own meager budget, glaring and making rude gestures while his pretty blonde companion rolled her eyes and sniffed haughtily.

Georgine rolled her own eyes in an unconscious imitation of Julia Wickett. "Honestly, who cares?" she muttered, snapping the tabloid closed. It was called The Rumour Mill, and Georgine had borrowed it from the Slytherin common room; she strongly suspected it belonged to that giggling twit, Bronwen Zabini. She was about to expand further on that uncharitable train of thought when the door to the Astronomy Tower swung open. No one was there, which could only mean one thing-

"Harry?" she asked, slipping on her brightest smile.

A hand appeared out of thin air; it raised, pulling down the hood of the Invisibility cloak. "Not quite," said Frédéric.

"Eff?" Georgine demanded, incredulous. "What are you doing here? Where did you get an Invisibility cloak?"

"Godswift," Frédéric said shortly. "Warrington owed him a favor."

Georgine raised an eyebrow. Alex Warrington had an Invisibility cloak? That information merited a mental note. "So?" she asked coldly. "That still doesn't tell me why you're here."

Frédéric sighed, removing the silvery cloak so that he was no longer a disembodied head floating in midair. "Look, Ji, I know what you're doing with Potter, and I know you mean well, trying to help Papa, but I think you're in over your head. With the dragon pox, and the rumors about the return of Voldemort- I'm just not certain that making friends with Brn's most obvious target is the best idea."

As much as she disagreed with her twin's words, Georgine was oddly touched by the message behind them. In spite of the changes wrought in the past few months, it was pleasing to know she was still one of his top concerns. "It isn't just about what Papa wants, Eff," she said, her tone softening considerably. "This is something I want to do for myself."

"Why?" her brother asked, clearly confused. "What do you get out of it?"

"Self-respect," Georgine said simply. "Maybe you're the same person you were four months ago, Eff, but I'm not. I haven't been the same since we left Beauxbatons. And I'm amazed that you can be." With these last words, her tone had hardened again.

Frédéric stared at the rough stone wall for a moment, considering her words. "Fine," he said softly, looking resigned. "Ji, the real reason I came up here was to ask you to stay in England for the holidays. Damian says you're welcome at his place, and it would be nice to spend Christmas together...."

"I agree that it would be nice to spend Christmas with family, Eff," Georgine said lightly, a hard, sharp edge hidden in her voice. "You seem to forget, however, that our family is in France."

"Technically, we have family in England, too," Frédéric snapped, warming to the argument. "The Weasleys, remember? The Malfoys are having a New Year celebration; Draco said he plans to have Ginny there as his date, if her family will let her come."

Before Georgine could make a snide reply, the door to the Tower swung open again, creaking loudly. Again, there appeared to be no one there. Both twins spun around, waiting.

"Harry?" Georgine prodded gently.

"Sorry," Harry said, sliding out of his Invisibility cloak. He eyed Frédéric warily, clearly waiting for someone to explain why he was there.

"Eff was just leaving," Georgine said with a pointed look at her brother. "He's trying to convince me to go to some Slytherin party over the holiday, in spite of the fact that I have told him quite firmly that I'm not interested. Good night, Eff," she finished, pointing at the still-open door.

"Think about it, Ji," Frédéric said; Harry noted that his tone was rather pleading. Odd, for a boy who spent his days with the likes of Malfoy, to sound so vulnerable. Harry had heard that Frédéric Belleton was an absolute terror, and that he especially enjoyed picking on some defenseless fourth-year Hufflepuff girl. From all Harry had heard, Frédéric was a Slytherin to the core, and nothing like his sweet, thoughtful twin.

Harry realized, as he stared at Frédéric's departing back, that he had no idea how he would have made it through the past few months without Georgine. She had become his mainstay, filling the role that Ron and Hermione used to play.

Just as he was thinking that, she reached over, grasping his elbow. "Harry, you look upset," she said. "Is there anything I can do?"

He was sorely tempted to tell her about Ron and Hermione, but there were more important issues at stake; it was imperative that he speak with her about Ginny, about his suspicions that she was being controlled by Voldemort and the Malfoys, and being used to spread the dragon pox.

"All I need you to do is listen," he replied, depositing himself on the floor of the Tower in a weary tangle of skinny limbs. "Everything started in my second year, Ginny's first, when Lucius Malfoy slipped Tom Riddle's diary in with Ginny's schoolbooks...."

***

"Marilyn Bell," Charlie echoed. "I knew Katie's mother died when she was very little, but-"

"Not just 'died,' Charlie. She was murdered." Cho rubbed her temples tiredly. "And, of course, most of Katie's family blames my father. They think that Philip was innocent, and that my father only claimed that Mrs. Bell would testify against him. According to the Bells, my father's so-called 'spurious' claim is what got Mrs. Bell murdered by the remaining Death Eaters.

"I don't know everything, because my parents haven't told me the whole story, but I do know this much: Marilyn Bell had realized that her husband was in some way involved with the Death Eaters; the Bells have long been friends with the Montagues, and Marilyn believed that Douglas Montague had somehow convinced Philip to work for You-Know-Who. Marilyn only knew my parents by reputation, but she'd heard they were the kind of people who could help with this sort of thing, so she approached my father. She told him what she knew, and he convinced her to spy on her husband."

Charlie frowned when Cho said this. "That's-"

"Morally reprehensible?" Cho asked edgily. "Perhaps. But I'd argue that being a Death Eater is just a mite worse."

Charlie sighed and nodded. "Continue."

"There isn't much else. Somehow, someone found out what Marilyn was doing; she was murdered the day before her husband's trial. The Bells blamed my father, Philip was reinstated, and the Ministry covered the whole thing up. It's hardly an isolated case. But I assume you can understand why Katie and I aren't the nearest and dearest of friends," Cho concluded, bitterness vividly coloring her words. "Satisfied now?"

Wordlessly, Charlie pulled her closer to him, carefully kneading out the knots in her neck. "I'm not sorry I asked," he finally said quietly. "But I wasn't expecting that sort of an answer."

"Things in my life are rarely simple," Cho replied with some irony, sighing softly as his hands worked their magic on her neck and shoulders. "Charlie, I should get back to work," she protested weakly. "I need to write a disciplinary letter to your sister, and then I have a mountain of essays to grade-"

"Well, I have it on rather good authority that the professor wouldn't mind if the grades were late. And as for Ginny- not even a Howler would get her to toe the line, so don't waste your time." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Waste your time on me."

Cho sighed, but there was no real irritation behind it. Whenever Charlie was around, her desire to be responsible seemed to go right out the window, replaced by a wholly different, though not unwelcome, desire. Charlie lowered his hands to rest on her hips, and Cho wound one of her hands in his hair, the other cupping his cheek, tracing the familiar hairline scar he'd gotten from a baby African Razorclaw.

"I'd love to," Cho heard herself saying before Charlie's lips met hers.

He was right. Responsibilities could wait.

***

Pressing herself against the stone wall of the corridor, Ginny listened carefully for the sounds of Filch, Mrs. Norris, or patrolling prefects. Blaise Zabini and Susan Bones were on duty tonight, and Ginny knew that neither of them were the type to accept excuses. Particularly from a forgetful fifth-year who couldn't be bothered to attend the meetings.

Ginny took a deep breath and scooted further down the corridor. She knew if she got caught she would lose her badge, but the note from Draco that Bronwen had slipped her at dinner sounded urgent. She knew better, now, than to assume that he just wanted to meet for a bit of kissing. Please don't let it be about my family, she thought. She was still trying to digest this afternoon's information about the Belletons; it wasn't sitting too well with her.

A warm hand clamped over her mouth; Draco's aim was fortunate because, unmuffled, Ginny's shriek would certainly have awakened the entire castle. He tugged her into a darkened classroom, locking the door behind them.

"Draco Malfoy, you have taken at least ten years off my life," Ginny panted, holding a hand to her chest.

Draco grinned. "What a shame. Our grandchildren will miss you, I'm sure."

"You won't have any descendants if you keep sneaking up on me in the corridor late at night," Ginny said darkly. "I have good aim, and these boots are steel-toed."

"No need to get violent, Weasley," Draco replied with a wince. "Anyway, I've been waiting here for twenty minutes. What took you so long?"

"Well, people over in Slytherin might not care about housemates sneaking off at night and losing house points, but Gryffindors do. I had to wait until Ron and Hermione cleared out of the common room. They were being quite mushy."

At this, Draco made a gagging face, and Ginny decided it was time to change the subject. She'd been happy to see her brother and Hermione together again, of course, but no girl wanted to see that much of her sibling's love life. And Hermione made this rather disturbing half-purring, half-moaning sound when Ron-

Ginny shook her head, feeling somewhat ill herself. "Sorry. So- what did you need to talk to me about?" She chewed her lower lip. "Please tell me it isn't about my family," she said worriedly.

"Not exactly," Draco said slowly, mesmerized by how red her lip looked as she chewed it nervously. He was abruptly regretting not having taken advantage of her playful mood earlier that day. He sat down on the floor, thankful that this was one of the few classrooms that had a rug; the castle was freezing at night. Reluctantly, Ginny sat next to him, and he pulled her close, trying to leech away some of her warmth. "What is it, then?" she demanded. "I left a perfectly warm bed up in the Tower, Draco, so this had better be well worth it."

"We could go get my bed warmed up," he suggested rakishly. "What do you think?"

Ginny laughed softly, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Five minutes ago, I threatened to emasculate you, yet you're still hoping to take me off to bed. Brave of you." Her eyes twinkled impishly. "Almost Gryffindor-esque."

"Not so much brave as hormonal," Draco muttered. "And it's nothing you couldn't cure." He trailed a line of kisses from her ear to the lacy collar of her pajamas, wryly noting that only Ginny would wear knee-high leather boots with a flannel nightgown.

She smacked at him lightly with the back of her hand. "I thought you had something important to tell me, Draco," she said, sounding both impatient and flattered.

"Two things, actually," he replied, pulling away with no small amount of reluctance. "First, I've made arrangements for your Christmas gift. So, here you are." He handed her a small gold key.

Ginny stared, wide-eyed. "You've already gotten me a Christmas present?" She felt a momentary flutter of panic. She hadn't even thought that far; and what could she get for the boy who had everything?

"I didn't say that," he said, shaking his head. Truth be told, a gift idea had only started germinating that very afternoon. "But I probably won't see you before New Year's Eve, and I want you to have your gift before that."

"Oh," Ginny said, scrutinizing the key. "Well, what is this?"

"It's a Fetchkey," he said. Seeing her confused expression, he remembered that Fetchkeys were O.W.L. level Transfiguration; she wouldn't study them until later in the year. "Take it out on Christmas morning, say my name, and it will fetch your gift. It's like the opposite of a Portkey."

"Oh," Ginny repeated. She gave him a sidelong, mischevious look. "Draco Malfoy."

Nothing happened. She pouted at him in disappointment.

"I know you better than that, Ginny," Draco said with a roll of his eyes. "Don't do that again before Christmas, particularly in front of your family, or I expect you'll sincerely regret it." He tried to keep a straight face, but finally he couldn't; he pulled out his wand and murmured, "Speculum." A mirror bloomed from the tip of his wand, and Ginny leaned forward, examining her face. Her freckles, which she never bothered to hide at night, had rearranged themselves to read "I've been naughty in the library with Draco."

"Draco!" Ginny gasped. "Make it go away right now!"

"Can't," he said smugly. "It will be there for at least an hour. Teach you to wait until Christmas, though, won't it?"

Ginny glared, crossing her arms over her chest. She hated when he was right. "What was the other thing?" she asked sulkily. "Something wretched, I'm sure, since you seem to have asked me here tonight only to torment me."

"That depends entirely on your definition of torture," he replied, leaning forward to kiss her. She did look rather silly, with those words scrawled across the bridge of her nose, but there was something indefinably attractive about seeing his name right below her left eye; it was as though it marked her as his.

"Stop staring," she said, swatting him away and clapping her hand over her nose.

He glared fondly at her for a moment. "The second thing," he said finally, "is that my parents are having a New Year's Eve ball. Assuming, of course, that you can slip away from your overprotective relatives for the evening, would you be willing to come?"

Ginny's first instinct was to eagerly accept- she'd love to see Malfoy Manor, meet Draco's mother, and attend a glittering event. But the euphoria faded quickly. Her parents would never let her go, and even if they did, what would she wear? "I'd better not, Draco," she said sadly. "I just don't think my parents would let me."

Draco made a dismissive gesture. "Bronwen and Damian have a plan worked out- Bronwen said she'd talk to you about it, so you can ask her for the details. Your sole concern is to procure an outift that is quite a bit sexier than what you've currently got on." He eyed her thoughtfully. "I can assist you now in slipping out of it, and then-"

Ginny stood up and primly arranged her long nightgown; the tips of her boots just peeked out from underneath the hem. "You and I, Draco, will never do any such thing under the roof of this school."

Draco pretended to consider this for a moment. "How about underneath the Whomping Willow?"

Ginny stifled a giggle at the innuendo of his emphasis. "No, not there, either," she said prissily, opening the door and checking the corridor for prefects and teachers.

"But somewhere?" he persisted. "At some point in the future?"

Ginny just smiled secretively. "Good night, Draco. Pleasant dreams," she whispered before the door clicked shut behind her.

Draco's signature smirk spread across his face. "Good night, Ginny. They shall be pleasant, indeed."

***