shouldn't be.'
She looked dazed. 'What are you going to do?'
'Before or after I go to your parents and tell them everything about what you've been up to lately?'
Surprisingly, some of the color came back to her face. 'Maybe you should try telling them something they don't know.'
It was his turn to stare. 'Don't tell me you confessed to them in a fit of tormented guilt.'
'It was their idea, Draco,' Pansy said flatly, having recovered some of her self-possession. 'My father's the one who developed the glamour charms -
where did you think I got them, anyway? They're prototypes — brand new.'
'And you expect me to believe they'd think it was a good idea to whore out their only daughter to a Weasley?' Draco struggled to put the disgust he was feeling into words. 'I don't-' He paused, and fell silent. He could almost hear the cogs buzzing and whirring inside his head as things fell into place. 'No. They wouldn't do that. They'd support you disguising yourself as Hermione, to get information, to spy — but sleeping with him, that was your idea. Either you hate him that much, or — but no, I don't think you hate him. You fell in love with him, didn't you? With a Gryffindor. Oh, that must have hurt your pride.'
Pansy's head snapped back. Her eyes were very bright. 'It was…'
'It was what?'
His tone was cruel, but cruelty seemed to be what she was expecting. She spoke softly, 'It was the way he looked at me,' she whispered. 'Nobody's ever looked at me like that.'
'It wasn't you he was looking at. It was never you.'
'And you don't know what that's like, I suppose?' Her tone was suddenly spiked with venom. 'Being loved even for something you aren't — it feels real, doesn't it, Draco?'
Her eyes were very bright. And for a moment, he was speechless. He had no idea how much she knew, and how much of what she had said was a wild jab in the dark, but uncontrollably the memory of Hermione putting her arms around him in the wardrobe rose up in his mind, of her voice calling him Harry. And Harry's voice earlier that day, You've done a good thing, Malfoy. And that moment, looking back at Harry, and wondering, What does he see when he looks at me? Not me. Somebody else. Somebody better.
And for just that moment, a arrow-thrust of sympathy for Pansy went through him, and he felt pity for her, and then Harry's voice recollected itself to him, telling him to make her pay. Because, of course, he possessed reserves of cruelty that Harry didn't. Didn't he?
'They don't know who you really are,' Pansy said, breaking his reverie.
He noted with a disconnected interest that her voice was very peculiar: both husky and squeaky at the same time. 'And I'm beginning to think you don't, either. Blaise always said differently — she always said you were a true Slytherin, in your heart. I don't believe that. I think you turned on us the first chance you got. Well, you picked the losing side, Draco Malfoy.
I know things you don't — we all do — none of us trust you anymore, we keep you out of our plans. But that doesn't mean we don't have plans — '
'Pansy?' Draco interrupted.
She blinked, cut off in the middle of her tirade. 'What?'
'Shut up,' he said.
She compressed her lips into a thin line. 'Fine. Stick your head in the sand. But you'll think about what I said, later — I know you will — '
'Pansy,' Draco remarked kindly. 'I didn't think about what you said while you were saying it. Now come on.' He took hold of her arm, and she didn't pull away — she seemed to have gone beyond panic, into a cold, trapped fury. 'We're going back to the party.'
Several wrong turns had led Ginny nearly to the wine cellars, and it was only with the assistance of a passing ghost butler that she managed to find her way back towards the front of the house. Finally she found herself in a long wood-paneled hallway that ran the length of the house's facade; just outside the window she could see the stone balcony that looked out over the gardens. Right now it was piled with snow, the diamond- paned windows fastened shut against the cold.
Just down the hall was the doorway she remembered: when she'd been at the Manor before, they'd spent most of their time in this room. She went to the door and pushed it open and stepped through it into the library.
It looked just the same. The same blue and green glass in the windows; the same high shelves full of books. It was quiet in here, so quiet that she could hear the beat of her own heart over the soft ticking of the gold clock on the north wall.
Ginny took a deep breath. Then she reached into the neck of her dress and drew out her Time-Turner on its thin gold chain.
Harry badly wanted a glass of wine, but had forbidden himself to have one. After the events of the previous night, he never wanted to drink again. What he really wanted, in his heart of hearts, was to go back to bed and never get up. Failing that, he wanted Draco to talk to. But Draco seemed to be missing — he was nowhere in the Greater Hall and when Harry reached to try to find his mind, he felt only a faint buzz in the distance like an interrupted radio signal. Draco was obviously still busy.
'Oh, Harry, lovely to see you — don't you look handsome.' It was Mrs.
Weasley, bending to kiss his cheek, smoothing down his hair, admiring his new clothes. Harry made small talk with her without really looking at her
— she looked too much like Ron, it was painful. Ron himself was hanging back against the far wall with the rest of his brothers. Harry could see him in the mirror that hung over the long table covered with plates of food.
He could also see himself, Mrs. Weasley tilting her head back to look up at him — he remembered when she had had to bend down to talk to him. He could also see the scarlet gleam of the runic band at his waist. Why had he been stupid enough to take it off?
'Although all black seems a little depressing for a wedding,' Mrs. Weasley added. This time Harry looked at her, and wondered suddenly what she knew — although he knew Ron well enough to be certain Ron wouldn't have told his parents anything. He was about to reply when he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and in the mirror saw the double doors at the far end of the hall open and Draco come through them. He wasn't alone either; he was holding Pansy Parkinson by the elbow. Maybe he'd promised to escort her for some reason?
'Excuse me,' Harry said to Mrs. Weasley. 'I have to — uh — I have to — I have to go over there,' and he beat a hasty retreat, leaving her looking after him in surprise.
Draco was standing just inside the door with Pansy, his eyes roving over the room. As Harry drew closer to them, he noticed that Draco seemed to be less steering Pansy by the arm than gripping her tightly against her will. She was pulling away, a look of obvious distress on her pale, fox-like little face. As Harry approached, Draco looked up and his face cleared.
'Ah, Potter — glad you're here.'
'Where have you been?' Harry asked under his breath, aware that a significant portion of the room's occupants were looking at them.
Draco looked at him, obviously frazzled. 'What?'
'Where have you been? I need to talk to you.'
'I went spear-fishing in Alaska. Where do you think I've been? Anyway, Potter — I'm a bit busy here. Hang around for a minute, will you? You'll see what I mean.' His eyes went past Harry, scanning the room. 'The Weasleys get here yet?'
Pansy made a squeaking noise and redoubled her efforts to pull away.
Harry blinked and pointed. 'Yeah, they're over there — Malfoy, it's important.'
