Pride and Honor

Why, why, why?

The dim corridors pressed closer to Ginny, suffocating her more than the pace at which she ran. Her dress, now the shade of iridescent midnight, glowed in the darkness, tangling about her legs, threatening to trip her, but softly floating out of the way before it ever could. She felt as if she were running in slow motion, always seeing her destination in front of her, but not quite reaching it as fast as she would had liked. When her fingers finally grasped the doorknob, her chest hitched in relief, and she swung open the door. Momentum from the pace she had upheld only mere seconds before threw her forward, tripping the beautiful angel in her halt causing her to fall to the ground and skid the few remaining feet towards the fireplace.

There she stopped, too drained to even pick herself up into a comfortable position. Her head lowered to her chest and she shut her eyes tightly to block the memory from the ball from rising. All it did, however, was bring the moment more into focus. Her lips tingled at the recollection of his lips brushing hers. It wasn't a kiss, oh no, it wasn't. She was sure of that. It couldn't have been a kiss because his lips were too faint on hers. But oh, how she wanted it to be a kiss.

Tears rose in Ginny's eyes from the frustration of the moment. A Weasley wanted to be kissed by a Malfoy. What was even more bizarre was that a Malfoy wanted to kiss a Weasley. There weren't many boys in her past who had kissed her, but she knew the signs of a kiss deep inside of her; she felt her heart jump, noticed the lack of air she seemed to be taking into her lungs, felt dizzy as the world around her blurred then faded. The moment Draco's hand rose to her face and his thumb caressed her cheek she knew. The look inside of his eyes only proved her assumption.

Oh, god. The feeling of longing and desire filled her, turning every nerve ending and working organ into a pit of endless pain. Why did she ache? How could she ache? She shouldn't have the pressure or the texture of his lips on hers memorized already, but they were. Oh, how they were, and how much did she want to feel them again.

But why, why, did she want him to kiss her? She repeated the question endlessly to herself, but could not come up with an answer. Ginny Weasley was truly lost.

Tired and tearful eyes turned towards the fireplace, at the flame licking the air above it promising warmth to any who came near. She dragged herself closer to the fire, a pale hand reaching out, yearning to feel anything other than the painful longing inside of her. She stopped before she touched the flames, her fingers falling into the palm of her hand as she gently lowered it to the ground. Yet, they did not touch the cold surface of the stone beneath her. Instead, her fingers fell into what felt like powder. Without even thinking, she collected a fistful of it and threw it into the fire.

"Hogwarts, Lady Sandra Savoy."

*

Music surrounded him, joyous laughter pierced his senses, soft light illuminated the ballroom, yet all was dark to Draco Malfoy. Minutes passed unnoticed as his eyes pleaded in the direction where Ginny had run for her to come back. Come back to the dance floor and into his arms, and join the couples waltzing around him. Nerves tingled at his ankles where dresses brushed up against them, but the connection to his brain was not being made. He was frozen in his spot, thawing from the inside, and only from the memory of their kiss.

She had been so yielding in his arms with her eyes flickering between his lips and eyes, and her own mouth parting as he had neared. He wouldn't say that she was practically salivating to kiss him, because that wasn't what had happened. It was different, this intent to kiss. Ginny was content in his lead, she wasn't going to pull back if he indeed kissed her, yet she wasn't going to paw at him like some other girls he had been with. There was more at stake with the littlest Weasley in a mere kiss than anything he had ever experienced before. What exactly it was, he was not sure.

At this moment he did not want to think about it, he couldn't think about it. Her image swam in front of his eyes causing such a deep yearning feeling to rise inside of him that his eyes closed in protest of the image leaving him. His chest ached from the beauty that he had held in his arms mere moments before. Her iridescent gown reflected light onto her features, and with little tendrils falling at her temples, her face glowing in tenderness. His hands clenched at the memory of how soft her skin had felt underneath his fingers as he had caressed her face. The way she slightly turned her face into his palm, and looked up at him with brown eyes so incredibly large and trusting. How, when he bent to kiss her, her scent rose up to meet him. The scent that still lingered around him (or was it on him?). It was a smell hard to describe, lightly sprinkled with a flower of a sort, yet utterly all her. As the couples continued to dance around him, her scent wafted by his senses and disappeared, drawing a never before felt despair into him. He moved to regain the scent when a hand roughly fell onto his shoulder, holding him in his place.

"Pity about your partner; she almost had potential."

Slowly, Draco's chin turned towards the voice, a scowl appearing on his face once he did so. Sebastian stared smugly back at him knowing that he was going to win this match of wits whether Draco liked it not.

"Excuse me?"

"Like I said, pity about your partner. It's always the ones beneath us that catch our attention." Sebastian paused, gauging the reaction from the blond boy next to him. "Was she at least worth it?"

"Worth what?"

"The sex. She looks to be the vixen in bed." Again, he paused, the corner of his lips curling up in satisfaction as Draco shifted restlessly next to him. "Not going to share? Shall I have to find out for myself, then?"

At that moment everything seemed to have shut down on Draco. No thoughts entered his mind except for one. No consequences, no what ifs, just one thing. How much Sebastian deserved to be hurt. He could practically feel his neck under his fingers, his throat pulsating as he tightened his grip. How easy would it be to just turn and do that right at this moment?

But just as quickly as that moment came, it left. Still, as Sebastian continued to describe all the things that Ginny Weasley could be good for in bed, the anger never faded. It continued to boil under his skin as he determinedly turned his chin away from the other man. His jaw clenched and his teeth ground together, but he would not succumb to the Grecian's tricks.

"Wonder what your father thinks of the spitfire," Sebastian murmured, slowly walking past the Brit with a knowing glint in his eyes. "I'll bet it doesn't bode very well on the honor scale, now does it?"

Draco did not have to respond to let the other boy know that he had won this game of wits. There was no way that he was able to stop the stricken look on his face from forming, nor was he able to conceal the loss inside of his eyes. Sebastian strolled away, his movements a long forgotten interest in Draco's mind. He was left, once again, alone in the middle of the ballroom with his thoughts, and such poisonous thoughts they were turning out to be.

If there was only one thing that he would ever be able, ever be allowed to remember was that a Malfoy stood by his name before he stood by anything else. It took pride and a sense of honor to uphold the name, and surely his father would not feel that Draco was doing a very fine job of it. Actually wanting to kiss a Weasley? Unheard of by the Malfoy ears! And it very surely should stay that way. This whole pageant was a test, a test against himself as well as his family honor. To lose one is to lose the other, and he was swiftly losing himself to the Little Weasley.

It just would not do. She had nothing to offer him, even a simple kiss she kept to herself. She was weak as well, proving the point just before by running away. Even if there could be anything between them, it wouldn't last. She would be torn to pieces, and he as well with her because he found himself more attached to her as each moment passed. He was losing himself to her.

A scowl flitted across his features once more. The thought repulsed him. He shouldn't let some pauper playing dress up have control of his feelings. They were his and his alone! It would not do to have any type of relationship with her than the one they already had. This idea of pretending to be friends was a load of bull, and he would have nothing more of it. Malfoys' played by their own rules, and it was high time to start doing so once again.

Firmly fixed once more in the Malfoy mindset, he took a step forward only to falter when the light scent of flowers tickled his nose. Her scent was back again, taunting his resolve, drawing up the memories that he had cherished not too long ago. However, he would not be swayed by it any longer. It was just a smell after all; nothing that a Malfoy should ever get worked up over.

*

"Ginny, what's wrong? Have you been crying?"

Upon seeing her tired friend's face floating above the fire, Ginny choked on a sob. Her body crumpled into a ball, and for a minute she let her frustration and confusion out in tears. When she finally was able to look back up, her dress was coated in salty tears and her eyes were puffy from exertion. Sandra worriedly glanced at her friend, wondering whatever the problem could be to have her break down in such a way. Before she could even pose a question, the Gryffindor spoke.

"He kissed me," she whispered, clearly upset about it, but still an ache tinged her voice. "He kissed me, and what's worse was that I wanted him to."

Alarm rose in Sandra's eyes. "Who kissed you?"

"Draco," she breathed out, hardly audible over the cracking of the logs in the fire.

"Malfoy? Draco Malfoy kissed you? That bastard!"

"Oh, Sandra, it wasn't that bad, though. It was hardly even a kiss, which makes me even more confused. Why would he, for all intents and purposes, try to kiss me, and not follow through with a real one? He pulled back, I know he pulled back."

"Perhaps he has something up his sleeve?" Sandra suggested helpfully.

Ginny paused at her friend's comment. Having something up his sleeve would be the typical Malfoy intent. It would also explain what happened in easier terms to deal with than believing that he actually desired to kiss her. Dealing with his usually petty remarks and actions was something that she was capable of handling. She was used to it after all their years together at Hogwarts. But to know that he actually wanted to kiss her, and it wasn't some malicious plot to get at her someway, she couldn't handle that.

"Gin, if you're trying to come up with a way to justify the kiss with an answer other than he has some sort of soft feelings for you, let this be it. Has he proved a difference in his behavior towards you, other than this kiss? Don't be so eager to believe anything he says or does just because he is the only person you know there. He is still the same Malfoy, using everybody and everything to his advantage."

Ginny's eyes fell to her lap where her fingers made idle circles on her dress. Sandra was right. There was really no solid proof in anything he did that he was being honest. Kissing her out on the dance floor in front of everyone at the International Pageant didn't mean anything other than the fact that she had a weakness, and it was him. Kissing her was just proving to him, her, and everyone else there that she was just a conquest. He was not as soft as the Greeks thought him to be either. By hurting her, he proved that to them as well.

"He hasn't changed," Ginny finally murmured. "The only thing that changed was my view of his actions. His kiss meant nothing more than the fact that he was able to get away with kissing me. God, I'm such an idiot!"

"You're not an idiot, Ginny Weasley, and to let that prat Malfoy make you feel that way makes me ashamed. Where is the Ginny that I know, who stood up to not only him, but to her friends as well? Where is the Ginny who had a wand pointed at her chest by one of her good friends and didn't back down?"

The Gryffindor sat up straight and brushed the tears from her eyes. "She's still here."

"Good. Don't let his actions make you forget who you truly are, Ginny. You're better that, better than him."

Ginny smiled at her friend in the fire. "Thank you, Sandra. I needed that."

"It's what I'm here for." Silence filled the room for a moment before Sandra chuckled. "I suppose this would be the moment that I hug you and tell you to owl me next time, but I don't think the constraints of the fire will let me do so."

The girl on the floor laughed, just once, before turning somber again. "Really, Sandra, thank you," she softly said.

"You're welcome. Now, wash your face and go back downstairs to the ball. I'm sure there are other men down there who could pay the right kind of attention to you, ones with sexy accents." She winked.

"Good night, Sandra."

"Nice, tanned bodies," she continued. "And muscles-"

"Night, Sandra!" Ginny exclaimed, laughter bubbling from her voice.

The royal sweetly smiled at her friend. "Good night, Ginny dear. Don't forget what I said."

"I very likely will not," she answered to the now headless fire. Sandra was gone and the warmth her friend provided quickly began to dissolve. Not even the fire in front of her could provide the warmth she so desperately needed.

She didn't understand how the situation could make her feel so cold, so used. It was barely even a kiss, a kiss that warmed her all the way to the tips of her toes and fingers to think about, but still, barely a kiss. From Malfoy. She rose, still facing the fireplace and feeling its heat on her skin; a burning, devouring heat that she supposed that he would have if anything went further. Ginny braced a hand on the cold, marble mantelpiece, softly scoffing at the symbolism it made in her mind. The heat of what was inside Malfoy always contained by a cold exterior. Hard to penetrate, and if you do it would be through cracks, cracks that symbolized a weakness that could never be mended.

Through her thoughts, she heard the door to their suite open and footsteps pause at its threshold. Paused just enough to be noticed by a sharp ear, but quickly continued inside as if the pause never occurred. Only when the door slid shut did she turn around to face the man she knew had entered the room.

Draco.

An icy calm reeked from his stance just inside the room. He was staring at her, the night grey eyes that promised the coming of the warm sun that she'd gazed into on the dance floor long gone. They were cold, hard, much like the marble her hand was resting on. Knowing this, she slid her hand from the mantelpiece and rested it gently against her side. A neutral position.

"Your cheeks are stained with shed tears," he commented harshly, his voice wavering with a pinch of concern. But he quickly shoved the concern down and faced her as he faced anyone back in Hogwarts, with distaste in his eyes and revulsion in his words. "Has Cinderella finally realized that she's nothing more than a slave to her family? The family who couldn't even try to get on the King's good side and marry off their children to wealthy Princes and Princesses?"

She smiled, a tight smile that contained the bitter words threatening to flow past her lips. Slowly she crossed the room so nothing stood in between them. "Actually, Cinderella must thank you."

Bewilderment flashed in his eyes at her statement, but again, like any other emotion ever shown or felt, squashed down to a place deep inside so he couldn't feel any longer.

"She forgot how conniving the little Prince is, but you just now reminded her. She thanks you."

"Malfoys do not need other people's gratitude," he ground out, more to himself than to her.

"Whether or not they need it, she gave it. Now, if you would excuse me, I would like to retire to my bed." She started past him, but was stopped as a hand snuck out and grabbed a hold of her upper arm. His grip was tight and painful, but she refused to give him any reaction to signal that he had won this battle of wills. Her eyes rose to meet his, and she momentarily felt startled to see the faint struggle inside of him.

"Do you have anything more to say about Cinderella?"

His hand loosened on her arm. "Pretty dresses don't make a pauper rich. She just appears to be a well dressed whore." He released his grasp and stepped away from her, satisfied to see her calm face shatter with his statement.

Ginny stood there, startled and shocked. Never before had he been so cruel, to actively throw out insults that targeted a person's weakness. He always taunted and teased, but never sought out the actual weakness, to take it and practically destroy it without a thought, without a concern.

Tears filled her eyes from the pain he inflicted on her. She raised them to meet his, to show him how deeply he had hurt her, but all she was faced with was a stone exterior of a man. Bred, born and taught to be nothing less than who he was right this moment.

"Good night, Little Weasley. I do hope you sleep well."

Draco slightly bowed before exiting to his room. Her eyes followed him as he left, his walk never breaking, always the powerful Malfoy knowledgeable in his entitlement. Once the door slammed shut, something inside of her broke. She felt hollow and aching. To move became too much of an effort, all her body wanted to do was to crumple to the floor and let her eyes relieve themselves of the pain. Yet, she couldn't fall to the ground and let him win. Instead, she walked to her room and closed the door. She carefully took off her dress and placed it at the very bottom of her trunk, and meticulously washed her face and brushed her teeth.

Only then, when she had crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her head, did she let the tears fall.

*

Draco gazed at his reflection in the mirror the next morning, inspecting each angle of his face for a sign of the conflict that had been raging deep inside of him. His eyes looked tired, and his lips were pulled into a sharp scowl, definite signs of the lack of sleep he received due to his incessant thoughts and memories of the night.

He fiercely shook his head to clear the thoughts before they rose, then he turned from the mirror. His hands slid up the bottom of his tie to tighten the knot and button up his shirt, concealing the hollow of his throat, but he thought better of it. It was too early, and he not ready, to be so constricted in propriety.

Instead, he gathered up his cloak and wand and entered the main room of the suite. The fire was already going strong, leaving the room a bit warm for his tastes, and a breakfast cart had been already laid out. He pocketed his wand and laid his cloak on the back of the chaise lounge before turning to the cart. As he glanced at the array of food, his fingers nimbly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows to help ward off the stuffiness he was beginning to feel from the heat.

There was a pit in his stomach, a pit that he was certain a result from hunger, but upon looking at the food, he knew it wasn't hunger. What he was feeling could never be hunger and he chastised himself for even thinking it was. Suddenly, he felt cold, even though he knew it was warm in the room and he himself was hot. Yet, the chill that ran down his spine told otherwise.

After pouring a cup of tea and splashing some milk into it, Draco quickly abandoned the breakfast cart and sat down in an armchair in the far corner of the room. A window sat to his one side, so he turned his body towards it to block the heat from the fire. It was a bone chilling cold outside the window, a cold so horrible that it leaked through the window panes as the wind blew by, chilling the inside of its warmth by the window. It was just as well, since Draco did not want any warmth. The cold suited him, suited his mind, suited his actions, and suited his heart. The warmth at his back could never replace the chill inside of him.

He was a prat, if nothing else, for allowing any ounce of warmth he felt when he was around his Little Weasley to let him forget of the coldness of his heart. He was raised to feel the chill and embrace it, but somehow over the past couple of weeks it was just simpler to embrace the warmth provided. Simpler to want to embrace her.

This was why he had been such an ass to her the night before. Upon reflection, here at the window with the heat of the fire at his back, and the chill of the winter on his face, he knew he had been malicious. He had reached inside of her, found her core, and ripped it out of her without any thought. He was every bit the Malfoy that his father groomed, and nothing of the Draco who he could be. Who he desperately wanted to be.

The man he wanted to be had wanted to kiss Ginny the night before, to show her with his hands caressing her face and his lips gently brushing against hers just how beautiful she truly is. Yet, he paused, long enough for his mind to catch up to what his body was doing, to stop him from kissing her. He wanted the man he wanted to be to kiss her, not the Malfoy inside of him, and until he could prove that he was different, even if it was just to himself, he could not, would not kiss her.

He sighed, turning his head from the window to glance at the flames dancing in the fireplace. As he did so, he became aware of a door opening behind him and soft footsteps walking towards the center of the room. From the corner of his eye, all he could see was pearl white and burgundy curls. Draco angled his body more comfortably to watch his Little Weasley approach the breakfast cart.

Once she reached the cart, Ginny paused, taking in all the food. Despite the turmoil her mind seemed to be in, her stomach was more than fine, grumbling at the smell of crisp bacon. She gently rolled up her sleeves of her pearl white night robe as to not dirty them, and then reached for a plate to begin filling when her eyes caught sight of a figure in the corner of the room. She straightened, lowering the hand that held the plate, and slowly backed away from the cart.

"I did not realize you were awake," she said when the silence and his somber gaze became too much. Instantly realizing how much her nightgown showed she pulled the edges of her robe closed and held the ends tightly in her fists just below her neck. "Have you eaten?"

"If you're suggesting that I wish for you to be a maid to me now and bring me my breakfast, I do hope that you will not voice it." His voice was strained; his eyes hollow when he spoke.

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind."

Instantaneously, Draco was on his feet and crossing the room, now staring down at her with a wild light in his eyes. "Do not start lying to me!"

"I wasn't lying."

"Don't. You, out of everyone I ever knew, including my father, could be more powerful, more hurtful in the truth than you could ever be in telling a lie. Do not lie to me."

She angrily stepped back from him. "I do not understand why you feel the need to have some 'well dressed whore' have that much power over you."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, daring him to deny his previous statement, to apologize for what he had said the night before, to do something other than stare at her with eyes so lost that it almost completely undid her. Neither happened, and they were left in the middle of the room simply staring at each other, wishing the other would speak to end the growing torment inside of them.

A knock came on the door, saving them both. Her voice wavered as she answered with a "come in," and her eyes refused to unlock gazes with Draco's even after their guest entered. But, she was finally able to do so, tearing her eyes from his to glance at the doorway. The same dwarfish woman that had led them to their rooms the day before stood there with two small bags in her outstretched hands as well as ice skates dangling from her shoulders.

"Good morning. I have come to inform you of today's events. There will be a 'getting to know your competitors' event held at the pond behind the castle in an hour. Inside of these bags are more instructions, as well as some earpieces that you will find come in handy. Some of the competitors cannot speak English very well, or not at all, and have requested an alternate form of communication. These earpieces will allow you to communicate with your fellow competitors as they speak in their native tongue, translating their words into your language, and your words into their language. We ask you to wear these at all times."

With that, she passed each of the Brits their items, bowed, and then exited the room, closing the door behind her.

"Well, it looks like a day of ice skating and campfires out by the pond," Draco said, looking down at the paper he held in his hands. "Oh, joy."

"Don't be so sarcastic, Malfoy."

He looked up from the paper. "I bet you would enjoy these sorts of things."

"And I bet that you don't, probably because you're afraid of falling on your sarcastic bum and making a fool out of yourself and your family name."

The paper crumpled under his fist as he closed it in controlled anger. "Ouch," he murmured, before turning from her and heading towards his room.

"You forgot your skates," Ginny called out.

Draco turned slightly before he entered his room, a slight smirk gracing his features. "I brought my own."

*

Competitors milled around the pond, skates thrown about their shoulders or resting on the ground next to their feet, each speaking energetically to the person next to them. The once language barrier was now non-existent with the new magical earpieces in place. The cordial atmosphere at the Welcoming Ball the previous night had been turned into a bunch of teenagers eagerly gossiping to their fellow opponents, and friendship was offered more freely.

Slowly, groups of the competitors began to slide out onto the ice, some forming a huddle to continue to chat and still feel a part of the event. Draco sauntered up to the pond, his snug black turtleneck charmed to offer more warmth that his cloak would've provided if he had worn it. He bent to slip on his skates, and when he rose he truly looked as if he stepped out of advertisements in Teen Witch Weekly, with the nonchalant gaze and the spicy clean scent of his cologne.

He took to the ice carefully, unwilling to join in on the conversations that swirled around him. The amount of languages began to hurt his head, as, of course, he wasn't wearing his earpiece, so he skated further out onto the pond to escape the incessant jabbering. He faintly wondered where Ginny was, but quickly dismissed the thought. It was better to let his mind absorb the calmness surrounding him and let his growing, indescribable emotions simmer down.

At the moment when he reached the level of calm he desired, he allowed his eyes to wander over the competitors skating close to shore or standing in groups. They paused on a figure dressed in a dusky rose oversized sweater, red skating skirt and matching skates. Cherry red hair curled about her head that, when catching the light, appeared to have an ethereal glow. He slowed his skating when he realized who she was, and once again, she stole his breath away.

She was an angel on the ice, gliding around other competitors, not a care in the world. Unbeknownst to Draco, he had stopped on the ice watching her skate, amazement shining in his eyes when she pushed off into a furious set of spins, twists and jumps before slowing into a lazy spin. A smile of pure joy covered her face, and he found his own lips tugging to match it.

"She's good, is she not?" a voice to his left asked.

Draco did not need to turn to know who was speaking. "Sebastian, what can I say to you to make you go the hell away?"

Sebastian skated to face him. "Your reputation preceded you."

"My father's reputation," he cut in.

"Your reputation preceded you," Sebastian pressed on. "As the son of Lucius Malfoy, we all heard stories about you. We were told to get on your good side, to stand next to you to watch the destruction of all the Muggle-born competitors. Destruction, in this case, would be humiliation of course.

"But that hasn't happened yet. In fact, nothing you have shown has come even close to it, which makes me wonder if you're truly a Malfoy, or one of those sniveling lower class vermin. I thought you would show more class than her."

Draco turned his gaze from Ginny to meet Sebastian's eyes. "Her? Pray tell, which her are you referring to? There are a lot of females in my life."

Sebastian grinned and skated around the Brit, enjoying the frustration forming on his face. Finally he stopped and placed his hands on the other boy's shoulders to turn him. Softly, he directed Draco where to look, triumph lacing his breath. Ginny was still skating around the ice lost in her own world, but that wasn't what Sebastian wanted him to look at. It was Melania, standing a few feet behind her, her wand twirling about her fingers.

Draco started, pushing forward to skate towards Ginny to protect her from whatever plan the two Greeks had up their sleeves. But he couldn't move; Sebastian still held him by his shoulders, keeping him in place. Angrily he turned back, shrugging the hands off of his shoulders and pushing the Greek away from him.

"What are you planning? Tell me now!"

"Just innocent fun, Draco. Innocent fun."

Draco turned back to watch Ginny. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do anything! She's not Muggle-born, she's pureblood!"

"Oh, that's not the reason why we're doing this. Like I told you, it's all just innocent fun." Sebastian's teeth flashed as he smirked, and he threw an arm around Draco's shoulders.

With a sly smile from across the ice, Melania pointed her wand to the ice in Ginny's path. Draco could see her lips move, but could not make out what she said. Unconsciously, he held his breath as Ginny continued to skate, awaiting something bad to happen. After a couple of minutes, and Ginny was still skating around the ice safely, Draco let out the breath of air he had been holding and gave out a nervous chuckle. As he did so, Ginny rose in a jump, the ice cracking beneath her skate. Water leaked through the crack, wetting the surface of the ice to a dangerous level. Before he could even begin to react, to stop the nervous chuckle coming out of him, she landed, her skate slipping on the wet surface, causing her to land face down on the ice.

Melania and Sebastian howled with laughter. Horror shone in Draco's eyes as Ginny lifted her gaze from the ice and focused them on him. The nervous chuckle continued to spill from him for another minute before he was able to get it under control. By then, it was too late. Ginny had risen and skated off the ice with as much dignity as the Queen would possess, and was out of his sight before he could even move.

Sebastian slapped him hard on the back. "Way to go, Draco. Your father would be proud."

Draco slid out of the Greek's grasp, the hollow inside of his chest growing ever deeper. "My father may be proud, but I surely am not," he muttered as he skated away.