Oh dear, Ginny thought, realizing no one had told him. “Actually…” she began.
“What she means to say,” said Draco, materializing in the corridor behind Ron, “is that she is going with me. Actually.”
Ron turned around and stared at Draco, who was busy doing up his cufflinks. He looked even handsomer than usual, though Ginny wasn’t sure why. He had on some sort of elegantly cut black suit with a white shirt underneath, very plain except for the emeralds that glittered in the cuffs on his wrists. He looked a little tired and his hair was falling over his eyes but he was beautiful. She wanted to tell him so, but perhaps it wasn’t done to say that sort of thing to boys.
“But — but—“ Ron stammered. “What happened to Seamus?”
“What indeed?” said Draco. “A mystery for the ages.”
“But he was supposed to be taking Ginny to the reception,” said Ron, looking rather like he had as a small boy when George or Fred had handed him a chocolate that turned out, when he bit into it, to be full of frothing soap. “Not you.”
“And I was supposed to be taking Blaise,” Draco pointed out. “Not you.”
“That’s different,” Ron protested. “It wouldn’t have been fair for Blaise to go with you when her true feelings were for me.”
Even Blaise rolled her eyes at this, but Draco only smiled. “And it wouldn’t be fair for Ginny to go with Seamus, when he’s done a bunk and no one knows where he is, would it?”
“But—“ Ron began.
“No buts,” said Draco shortly. “You have no moral high ground to stand on, Weasley. In fact, you have sunk so far down from the moral high ground that you are rapidly approaching THE MOLTEN CENTER OF THE
EARTH.”
Blaise yawned. “Is this when you two start punching each other?” she inquired. “Because if that’s the case, Ginny and I will just head down to the reception and you can meet us down there once you’re done knocking the stuffing out of each other, or whatever other latently homoerotic form of violence you choose to engage in.”
“What?” said Ron, looking betrayed. “Who are you siding with here, Blaise?”
“Neither,” said Blaise. “You’re both being ridiculous. And I’m leaving.”
And with that, she flounced off down the corridor, her skirt swishing around her legs as she went.
Ron hesitated a moment, then jabbed a finger at Draco. “Just keep your paws off my sister,” he said darkly. “I can see the future, Malfoy, and if you lay a hand on her, yours will be short and bloody unpleasant.”
“In the old days, I would have taken this opportunity to make a nasty remark about your mother,” Draco reflected. “But as times have changed, I’ll just say this: I don’t need to be a Diviner to tell you that if you leave Blaise waiting for you at the end of the hallway like this, your future will contain no sex again, ever. Think about it.”
Ron made a spluttering noise, gritted his teeth, looked once at Ginny, and then stalked off down the corridor after Blaise.
“Ugh,” said Ginny. “I rather admire how you did that, but did you have to mention my brother and sex in the same sentence? Because I really don’t…”
She broke off, because he was looking at her, his eyes travelling up and down her body with an excruciatingly slow and exact appraisal. When his eyes met hers, he smiled. “That dress,” he said, “looks exactly like I imagined it would.”
Ginny’s heart banged against the inside of her ribcage. “Is that good?” she said.
“Very good,” said Draco, and took her hand, drawing her towards him — not close enough to kiss, but so they stood side by side. “And I like the duck socks,” he said, twining his fingers with hers. “They add a certain flair.”
Ginny glanced down at the sparkling shoes just visible under the dress’s hem. “You remember them?” she said.
She couldn’t see him smile, but somehow, she felt it.
“I remember everything,” he said.
“You’ve gotten better,” Hermione said with a laugh, as Harry steered her across the dance floor with a determination that was more stolid than graceful — but was nevertheless endearing.
Harry smiled, shaking dark hair out of his eyes, though his gaze never left their feet. “Better at dancing, or better in a more general, moral sense?”
“Better at dancing,” said Hermione. “I already knew you had moral fiber. I believe you once won a tournament because of it?”
At that he did look up, still smiling. A moment later he trod on her foot, but Hermione didn’t really mind. Despite her earlier nerves, she’d been able to relax into the ambiance of the party. It was a slightly more subdued affair than the raucous birthday party they’d thrown here for Draco and Harry last year; this party had more of Narcissa about it, especially in the lovely decorations: the black and white silk banners that hung from the ceiling, the glowing, floating candles everywhere —
Hermione had flinched as one passed right in front of her, but it had given off no heat with its glow — and the overflowing pots of white and black roses everywhere. Every once in a while a rose would fall from one of them, turning to silk as it fell. People were picking them up and wearing them as party favors; Hermione had tucked a black silk rose into the blue satin band holding her hair back, and felt only a slight twinge when she did.
There was a huge table running along one wall, laden with silver tureens heaped with sweet ices, chocolate-covered strawberries and all sorts of other treats. There were musicians on the adjacent stage, a group so delicate and fey-looking Hermione couldn’t help wondering if they were faeries. Either way, she doubted that this year, Snape would be singing any karaoke. Near the stage, Sirius and Narcissa were dancing, seemingly lost in their own private world. It was nice, Hermione thought, looking at them wistfully, to see people get a second chance at happiness, especially two people who’d been so miserable for most of their lives.
