Act I

Scene 11

Ginny's flat. September 24, 2002.

Ginny had chosen to forgo being lost in thought for getting ready. However, she'd forgotten that pulling a sweater over her head and buttoning jeans did not occupy much brain power. As she sat on the loveseat and braided her hair over one shoulder, she started thinking about her predicament again.

What Luna had said - or, rather, not said - was weighing on her. Perhaps Ginny had been right a few days ago. Perhaps this whole transformation thing was changing her - not in the superficial ways, but in a way that mattered. After all, the Ginny Weasley of two weeks ago would not have missed a tea date with Luna to verbally spar with Narcissa, or play piano with Draco, or almost kiss Blaise Zabini-

Oh, fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

She'd forgotten about Blaise for a second. The kiss, that is. Not Blaise himself - fun, handsome Blaise who made her smile just with a wink, whose firm fingers she could still feel cupped around her-

Oh, fuck.

Did she like Blaise?

The sudden discomfort in her lower belly provided one very positive answer. But, Ginny argued with herself, that meant nothing. She felt a similar bellyache around her mustachioed French intern Marc, and she certainly wasn't interested in his high-maintenance ass.

Although they had made out at that work party one time, and he'd steadily avoided her for the next week. Okay, maybe it hadn't totally been her choice not to pursue Marc. Whatever! The point was that attraction wasn't enough.

Yes, that's it, she thought to herself desperately. Being attracted to Blaise didn't mean anything. He was on a date last night - she steadily ignored that weird pang in her ribs again - and they were great friends. And she was in short supply of friends.

It was this long, somewhat depressing internal monologue Ginny was in when her fireplace shone green, and a tall, platinum haired man in robes more expensive than all her furniture - now covered in soot - stepped out.

"Damn it, Weasley, clean your fireplace once in a while."

Ginny started, eyes wide as she finally saw her guest.

Draco snorted at her from across the room. "At least you didn't have any tea on you this time."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up. Didn't I tell you I would come get you?"

"You did, but you also said you enjoyed The Weird Sisters. Forgive my lack of trust in you," Draco responded smoothly.

Ginny glowered at him for a moment until he relented. "Alright, Weasley. Truth is, my mother won't stop talking about you, and I had to get away as fast as possible from that woman."

"Explains why you managed to get up before 11," Ginny said saccharinely, finishing her braid. "Your mommy was there to wake you up."

Draco scowled down at Ginny as he made his way over to her and offered her a hand (she took it, mildly surprised at the decisive gesture). This time, she didn't knock right into his chest.

"Seriously, Weasley, I don't think she's spoken this much on one topic since Blaise's mum started dating that Gringotts banker." Draco said, seemingly unaware of her thoughts on the last time they were in this apartment together.

"Yeah, well," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm glad to know I rank along the greats. Although," Ginny asked, turning as she shrugged on a raincoat (it wasn't supposed to rain today, but, with London, you never knew). "Is what she says 'bout me good or bad?"

Draco smirked at her, his silver eyes gleaming with mirth. "Both. That's a bit of a compliment, though, when it comes to my mother."

Even as she wondered whether yesterday's encounter with Narcissa was a victory anymore, Ginny couldn't help but laugh. "Lovely, glad your mum likes me." She missed the pink spots that appeared on Draco's high cheekbones as she walked to and opened the front door.

Draco huffed at the sight of the door, fully alabaster again. "Ugh, Weasley, don't tell me we're walking."

"Yes, outside the building's wards, you lazy ass," Ginny exclaimed, rubbing her temples. What had she gotten herself into, planning a day with Draco Malfoy?

The odd pair - the lanky blonde without a hair out of place and the petite redhead with an eerie resemblance to Annie from Annie in a raincoat about three sizes too big for her - bickered all the way down the six flights of stairs.

"You know, for living in this building, you ought to have better legs than you do, Weasley."

Ginny tripped him.

Borough of Hackney, Central London. September 24, 2002. 10:32 am.

Weasley was a liar. There was a lot more walking involved than she had alluded to.

Draco made sure to tell her so at every moment that he wasn't gasping for breath. "And to think that you used to play Quidditch," Ginny muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

He was alternating between calling her Weasley and Ginny in his head, ever since she'd told him to call her by her first name that night they'd- well, since they'd slept together. He wondered if she noticed that he didn't call her anything when he addressed her anymore; he was too worried a "Ginny" would slip out. Merlin, that would be embarrassing for his icy image.

Not that it seemed to affect the woman next to him. She bounced along as she tried to keep up with his long, significantly less energetic strides and had sloshed him at least twice by jumping in puddles, much to his visible displeasure.

In fact, Weasley was so unintimidated that she's invited him out for whatever this was.

A date?

Definitely not, she hardly seems interested.

But is it mere coincidence that she asked you to meet her right after you mentioned Blaise's date? And you two are going out without him?

…..

Pulling himself from his treacherous, bewildering thoughts, Draco asked the subject of them what he'd been wondering for the past twelve hours: "Where are we supposed to be going? I could swear you're trying to just navigate us to the largest puddles you can act like a toddler in."

Ginny merely grinned at him, and Draco couldn't help but marvel once more her evolved ability to handle his barbs.

Who knew a Weasley could pull that off?

Maybe she's not insulted because you're friends.

Draco looked at Ginny in wonder - Ginny, his friend? - before realizing her lips were moving and tuning in to what she'd been saying.

"— so yeah, I think you'll like it - and the other places we'll go to today - even if they are Muggle places." Ginny finished, looking up at him with a hesitant smile.

Draco had not heard most of her explanation, but he'd understood enough to know Ginny, with her hopeful eyes and nervous finger biting (damn her), that she was worried about his reaction to going to Muggle locations.

He raked his eyes critically over the woman in front of him (muggle lover, sneered his father's voice in his head). She was so Weasley and so Gryffindor that it was blinding, she was horribly clashing in that yellow raincoat, and she was waiting for his approval. In that moment, Draco knew he'd say whatever she wanted, no matter what he thought.

"Of course," he shrugged nonchalantly. "Is this it?"

Ginny's eyes sparkled before she squealed and turned around, grabbing his hand to lead him down the block. Draco let himself be dragged along, torn between mild amusement, wondering how bigoted she thought he still was, and worrying about what rules there were for being in a Muggle location. He knew the Ministry rules in theory, of course, but he'd never actually had to use them.

Until now.

Ginny stopped in front of a dark brick building, so small one might blink and miss it, with a tiny wordless sign engraved with the symbol of a book. She dropped his hand - he was distracted, for a second, by the loss of her warmth - and opened the small glass door in front of them. He followed her in, almost as a child worried about getting lost would follow his guardian, to the sound of bells tinkling lightly above them.

Draco had to duck his head to avoid the bells, but when he straightened, he saw that they had - surprise - entered a cramped bookstore, full of rickety wooden shelves, a small cashier's desk, and another door. It almost reminded him of his first time in Ollivander's - he had been similarly anxious, surrounded by a small mess that looked at least several decades old, and with few signs of life to reassure him.

Confused, Draco turned to a beaming Ginny, but he was interrupted in asking her anything by a voice from across the room. "Welcome, again, Miss Weasley."

Instead of creepy old Ollivander, a small, red-cheeked woman with white hair streaming down to her knees smiled cheerfully at them. Did all of Weasley's friends look like Loony Lovegood?

"I am! And I brought my friend I was telling you about," Ginny told the shop-owner, nodding towards Draco.

I suppose that settles that.

Ginny Weasley, my friend.

Adult friends don't have sleepovers.

Draco sent mental silencios at, uh, himself before turning his attention back to the women in front of him. The old lady, dressed shabbily in an old vest and a flowery dress, peered at him from underneath circular glasses before rocking back on her heels. "Yes, you seem worthy."

Draco stared at the woman as she turned around and walked towards the back wall. He looked over incredulously at Ginny, who could barely hold in her mirth. She managed to keep her giggles under control, though, and called out to their host.

"We're right behind you, Ms. Cobbleworth!" Ginny gestured for him to follow as she clumsily made her own path through the books, looking up at Draco thankfully when his hands shot out to keep her from falling more than once.

It took a whole minute to reach the back door Draco had noticed when he'd first walked in, despite it being a maximum of ten meters away from the entrance. Cobbleworth stood in front of the door, with her arms twisted back behind her, as if to guard the handle from them.

"Now, remember that the contents of this room stay a secret," she said, her wrinkled little face solemn.

Draco wondered if he was hallucinating as Ginny responded from in front of him, just as seriously. "Of course. I honor the sanctity of this space."

Cobbleworth smiled broadly again before opening the door wide enough for them to pass through."Enjoy, dearies!"

Ginny nearly hopped into the room, turning to glare at Draco when she realized he wasn't right behind her. Rolling his eyes as he ducked through a doorway yet again, Draco walked in, unsure if he was entering a cult initiation or not.

He was over cults. He had the ugly emo tattoo on his forearm to prove it.

Instead, he found more books. Books upon books lined the walls of the small, square shaped room. The difference was that, instead of dusty shelves, these books were carefully housed in glass cases, with dim white light, and all separated from each other.

Despite himself, Draco came closer to inspect the nearest case — and his breath caught.

"Yeah, that's a first edition Don Quixote."

Unwillingly, hesitantly, Draco looked away and around with wide eyes. The quaint old shop keeper had disappeared. Ginny looked up at him with a faint sort of pride. "Cool, right?"

"Cool is an understatement," he responded, his voice quiet, so as not to disturb the books.

"I knew you'd get it," she murmured, a triumphant smile on her lips. "Hermione showed it to me, a while back, because she knows I enjoy the classics - and, really, fairytales in particular - more than she does."

"Fairytales?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. Books have always been a sort of escape for me; thus, fairytales."

A sort of escape? She's not referring to….

"Sorry." The apology was out before Draco had even thought it. He hadn't apologized to anyone since his trial, but this one he'd blurted out so easily.

Ginny glanced up at him, eyes searching. "It's not your fault. Sins of the father, and all that rot. You didn't give me the diary."

"Still." Oh, how Lucius Malfoy must be rolling over on his Azkaban cot.

One of the corners of her mouth curved up as she looked away. "Appreciate it, Draco." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, here's what I brought you here for. The main show."

Draco looked curiously towards the glass case she had walked over to - what had she picked out for him?

"No."

"Yup."

And Draco didn't care how undignified he looked, hunching over the glass case, mouth fallen open, scared to even come within a foot of the book in front of him. Because there it was.

There was a copy of Shakespeare's First Folio right there.

"Wow."

"I've never seen you so monosyllabic, Malfoy. I'm really enjoying it."

Pausing only to glower at her over his shoulder (what happened to 'Draco'?), Draco continued staring at the rare book.

"Mrs. Cobbleworth collects rare books, and she allows customers she trusts to take them out and look at them while they're in the shop."

Immediately regretting the glare he sent her a moment ago, Draco turned what he knew to be a particularly magnetic smolder on Ginny.

The redhead merely snorted. "I already asked her for you, you utter ass."

London's South Bank. September 24, 2002. 1:37 pm.

"I'm telling you, you ought to have let me Illusion a copy of the book and steal the real one. That old Muggle bat wouldn't have known!"

A sharp punch landed on his arm, and Draco scowled at the aggressor, who stuck her tongue out at him. "Be nice to Mrs. Cobbleworth! She didn't have to let you spend like, four hours with her books, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Draco grumbled. "Moving on, where are we headed now? Back to the Manor?"

"Oh, no, mister. No, I have you for the whole day."

Ginny was looking straight ahead, keeping an eye out for their next destination, so she missed Draco's raised eyebrows. "And, what, pray tell, would you have done in the event I had other plans?"

She almost laughed. Ginny had seen Draco in various states of drowsiness, anger, discipline, and serenity. She had yet to see him in the willing company of anyone other than herself, Blaise, or his mother.

Actually, scratch his mother from that list.

"You don't have plans."

Draco scowled half-heartedly at her they walked up to their next destination.

"Here we are!" Ginny announced proudly. "The London Dungeon."

She waited a beat, just as she'd expected to.

"Yeah, I don't get it."

"It's this place that puts on, like, shows and tours and all sorts of things about different horrific things to happen or supposed to have happened in Muggle England. Like oh, there's this great exhibit on Bloody Mary, that old Muggle queen, but I think it's over now. And one of my favorites is the Sweeney Todd play."

Ginny hadn't been kidding about the fairytales earlier. The royalty stuff was fascinating, sure, but, unlike the Muggles, she was not used to worshipping some inbred, stuffed-up family hoarding unearned wealth.

Draco looked at her, completely nonplussed. "You know none of those names mean anything to me, right?"

"No shit," Ginny responded, rolling her eyes. She chose not to express how satisfying it was to condescend him, instead of the other way around for once. "But they hardly have an equivalent in our world, and I think it's really cool – seeing the sordid history and mythology of London in these shows."

"Right, because we've hardly seen enough macabre events in our own lives," Draco said sarcastically.

"Escapism, Draco, escapism." Ginny reminded him brightly, and, as if by instinct, Draco marveled at the Ginny Weasley of Hogwarts lore, so different from the defensive woman of mere days ago. "Besides, trust me. Didn't you enjoy this morning?"

The platinum-haired man grumbled to himself, and Ginny took the lack of loud denial as assent as she grabbed his arm and dragged him in.

"Excellent!"

Two hours later, the unlikely pair emerged from the dark, dramatically emblazoned doors in the middle of an animated argument.

"Sweeney Todd is not a sympathetic figure!" Ginny exclaimed, her face flushed.

"Okay, then how do you explain the whole damn love story there? The man killed himself in despair over his wife. That's basically stolen from Romeo and Juliet." Draco's eyes were sparkling with indignation, as he argued with the self-professed London Dungeon expert.

Inwardly gleeful at his investment in the Muggle show, Ginny rolled her eyes at Draco and tilted her head. "I explain it as some random man trying to make a sadistic barber appear romantic, even as he kills a random homeless woman and only regrets it once he realizes that was his wife. And-" she continued emphatically, over Draco's protests, "I think it's utter bullshit that they try to blame his murder spree on Mrs. Lovett being some lusty murderess influencing him."

Draco quirked his lips for a moment and looked out at the bustling crowd on Westminster Bridge Road before shrugging and turning to Ginny. "Yeah, I suppose you've got a point there."

Ginny gave him a triumphant grin, and Draco visibly held back a snort at her childishly happy face. She appreciated the effort.

Ginny chattered on, years of pent up conversation easily flowing from her. "Anyway, I think the plotline where he's a traumatized barber surgeon from the Napoleonic Wars is way more compelling as a way to humanize Todd."

"Agreed. Why isn't the play on that?"

"Because they're idiots, that's why."

Draco scoffed in agreement, blinking against the slowly descending sun. Ginny smiled softly at him, out of place as always with his lanky limbs and dark clothing against white hair and skin.

She'd rarely felt so at ease with someone, in conversation and in silence. The irony that Draco Malfoy so enjoyed the outing she'd planned for him – and that he'd made this day one of the best she'd ever had– was not lost on her.

Ginny's doubts about tomorrow remained, but, in that moment, she realized: Draco would be a source of comfort for her. After all, she wouldn't have even gathered up the courage to go to the Ball without his prodding, his sometimes-constructive criticism, his quiet compliments.

Draco Malfoy had given Ginny Weasley her nerve back.

Truckyard, to the East of the Thames. September 24, 2002. 4:30 pm.

Narcissa would have a heart attack if she could see her son now.

Draco was sprawled across a cheap plastic chair in a public lot, eating food prepared in a truck with his hands as Muggles milled about. Across him sat Ginny Weasley, who had finished stuffing her face with curry chicken tacos about five minutes before and was now eyeing his food longingly.

Thoroughly and slowly enjoying the food he'd spent twenty minutes complaining about before trying, Draco took even greater pleasure in teasing Ginny.

The sun was setting across the Thames, and the golden glow was reflected in a mirage on the otherwise dark lake. Lamps glowed softly along the cobblestone lanes, illuminating the carefree couples and happy families on their evening outing. Despite his doubts earlier in the day about how well he'd adapt to Muggle London, Draco felt more relaxed than he had in days, weeks, months. Hell, he was more relaxed than he'd been in years.

The sky slowly darkened behind his companion, whose hair had come loose over the day and glowed like coal on fire under the lights as she turned to drop a few Muggle coins in the cup an elderly Muggle lady held out to her, and for an instant, Draco's chest felt as warm as the descending autumn sun.

Ginny, this. Ginny that. When did you stopped alternating between 'Weasley' and 'Ginny'?

Then Ginny turned back, her freckled face turning into a lovely smile and her brown eyes glowing, and Draco no longer gave a flying fuck.

"So did I show you a good time or what?" She asked, running a hand through her long hair as she tossed him a cheeky smile.

Draco ignored the beat his heart skipped at her joke – Merlin, he needed to get laid somehow – and raised the hand not covered in curry sauce to stroke his chain in faux contemplation. "Well, if you count picking at least two out of three locations just because you like them as showing me a good time, then sure."

Ginny snorted. "Must've been hard to say all that with taco crumbs all over your face, you elitist prick."

Draco couldn't help the smirk that automatically appeared on his face. The street food was too good to even pretend to dislike. He polished off his last bite before leaning back up in his chair. "No, it's been great. In all seriousness, though, I didn't expect to like all this as much I have."

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "All this?"

"This," he emphasized, gesticulating lazily around. "The isolation of being anonymous in a crowd, doing what you like even as a million people surround you."

Draco glanced up at Ginny, expecting a joke on the tip of her tongue about how he was an old man recluse at heart, but he found her looking off into the river, her eyebrows scrunched up. She turned back a moment later, a hesitant expression on her face.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, and tell me if I'm prying, but why? Like why exactly do you seek out isolation so much? What's so great about being alone and invisible all the time?"

As if she'd taken a hammer to his knee, Draco felt himself go numb. Without any intention, he spoke automatically, "Why, yes, I suppose it wouldn't make sense to someone who grew up like cattle in a very packed herd why civilized humans might like to be alone."

Ginny's eyes flashed in confusion, and, feeling his own heart seize strangely – he wasn't used to confrontation anymore, not like this – he barreled on, recklessly. In a cold voice, Draco continued, "Actually, I suppose your aversion to isolation makes sense. When you're the most useless sidekick to the One-Trick Trio well into adulthood, I imagine you get tired of invisibility after a while. No wonder you came to me, after all."

He ran out of words then, knowing he wasn't making any sense even as he tried to fish for every one of her insecurities. Ginny – passionate, compassionate Ginny - wasn't invisible, she never had been and never could be, even if she tried.

But Draco hadn't lost his knack for cruelty, after all. He watched with an ache beginning in his temples at Ginny looked down at his words and bit her bottom lip, steadying her breathing as the full impact of what he'd said to her hit.

Draco steeled himself for whatever she'd say next. He always planned for the worst possible outcome, and in this case, it would be what? Her commenting on how alone he was, in the thread she'd already begun? Her squirting the bottle of hot sauce in his face or on his Gladrags daywear? Her telling him he was nothing but a jealous, cruel child, the way he'd always been?

You know what would be worse.

And Draco did know what would be worse, as much as he tried to ignore it. The worst outcome would be Ginny telling him she regretted today, she regretted ever coming to him, and walking away right now, never to see him again.

Why, why was he antagonizing the first person who had made him feel comfortable in so many years? She had held his hand and brought him into a new world, after diving so easily into his own. And he snapped at her

Draco watched, heart heavy with regret at his own defensiveness, as Ginny looked up again, hastily pushing hair out of her reddening face.

She spoke in a low voice, surprising the teenaged Draco who knew her hexes, surprising the King's Cross Draco who knew her angry swearing.

"This is not fair. You do not get to comment on my life, my appearance, my flat, my family, my breeding, my habits, and then sit here and get defensive when I ask you one question you don't want to answer." Ginny broke off for a moment, looking past him at a little girl scrawling in a journal at the next table over. A moment later, she continued quietly. "I have opened myself up to you, humbling every part of me that would rather die than ask a Malfoy for anything, with little to no complaint. What you are doing now is not okay. This is not fair, Draco, and you know it."

Draco opened his mouth slightly and then closed it, not sure where to begin or what to say. Ginny watched him, eyes bright enough to match the stars twinkling behind her in the now fully dark sky.

"I'm taking back what I said before. I'm not sorry if this is personal. You know everything important there is to know about me at this point. You can at least answer me this."

Draco laughed without any humor as he threw his head back to watch the stars, no longer able to maintain eye contact with her.

"You can trust me, Draco." Ginny said quietly, but everything other than her had dulled to a light buzz. Draco heard her, loud and clear.

Can you trust her?

Images flashed across his mind, blurring his vision – Ginny's eyes flashing with hurt and anger at King's Cross, the defeat written across her face when she came to the Manor, the aurora of colors blasting out of her wand outside Umbridge's office his fifth year, her raucous laughter as Blaise told her of the prank they pulled on Madam Pince, the unbearable smirk so close to his own as she caught the Snitch underneath his nose when Potter had been sentenced to detention, her debating absurdism with him over copies of Camus, the shy smile on her face as her movements mirrored his on the piano but an octave higher, the tired face of the girl in the Great Hall who told him how sorry she was for Vincent's death.

"You can trust me, Draco."

"Trust me, Draco."

Trust her, Draco.

And so he did. He told her all of it, from the empty days after the War, when all his mother's friends fled, when Lucius was dragged from the Manor, when anonymous notes threatening him and his parents were dropped on their doorstep. He told her of what happened before, of Draco knowing Harry and yet refusing to identify him because he could not imagine a world of the last two years, of waking and sleeping nightmare where his house and his sleep and his mind were all occupied by a tyrant. He told her of now, when Narcissa has built their reputation back up with the ferocity of a wildcat and he has solidified their waning wealth just enough with his control of the family import business from home. He told her of his disinterest in seeing and being judged by the new Wizarding society, intermingled with the old.

And, as if it's all part of a great rapid bursting inside him for too long, he told her what he's confessed to nobody, not even his mother, before. He fears Lucius. He fears becoming a criminal and a coward, and he fears disappointing the strong patriarch who raised him to replace him. He doesn't have his father's business acumen, and he never will, so long as he continues to hide away. Draco told her how he hasn't seen his father since Christmas 1999, and that he's unsure of who Lucius might be if he goes and visits now. He's unsure who he is, and if he has anything to offer his father. And he hates this, kind of hates himself, hates these thoughts and debates he can have from the comfort of the Manor as his father rots away in Azkaban.

Draco's voice was rough when he finished talking, feeling a little dizzy and overwhelmed at saying so much kept hidden for so long.

Ginny watched him with a sympathetic look on her face, and he wondered if this was a skill she'd developed as an advocate for the traumatized after so long. Regardless, he appreciates her strong, silent presence. She's a better listener than the voice in his head, and he is glad she is there.

"You said your mum wants you to join her to see him at Christmas?"

Draco looked up blearily, wondering what that detail he told her has to do with anything when she continues, her voice gentle but practical.

"I think you should do that, if you feel comfortable. Draco, you're twenty-two. You've been out of Hogwarts for five years, and you've been heading your family for five years. You're a grown man, and you're a good one. Lazy, but good and honest." Ginny smiled, and Draco couldn't help a corner of his mouth from quirking up.

"However, you clearly need to meet your father, whether it's because you miss the man or because you need closure. He's your father, and it seems like he wasn't a terrible one, so there's that. But perhaps more importantly, continuing to live in the shadow of your father's crime is going to hold you down forever, Draco. And you don't deserve that. You're too good, too talented to be shut up forever. You should have more days like this," she said emphatically, gesturing around in mock exaggeration.

Draco groaned softly. "If this whole nonprofit thing doesn't work out and you suddenly decide you want to make decent wages, you should really consider becoming a Mind Healer."

Ginny grinned at him, and Draco thought his chest had never felt lighter.

"You know, if you'd like…" Ginny started, her smile creasing in anxiety.

"What?"

"Well, if you want someone other than your mother there to walk in with you, I'm at Azkaban pretty much weekly with a client or arguing with the warden in general about prison conditions. I know the place pretty well, and I might even be able to get your extra time or a nice meeting room for your father."

Draco watched in wonder as Ginny nervously twisted the ends of her sleeves around her fingers, her eyes refusing to meet his. Another vision came back to him, obscured by time, of a little redheaded girl avoiding his eyes for weeks after the Chamber of Secrets closed finally. He hadn't thought anything of it until the whispers around the Manor that summer. Merlin, this Gryffindor was really something else.

"You know what, forget it, it was presumptuous of m—"

"Yes."

Ginny's eyes finally met his, and he knew she could see the decision in his eyes. "Yes, I want you to be there."

There was a moment where neither she moved nor her. The Muggles continue to laugh and dance and chat and eat, but it was just him and her and the lights and the stars and the water, and it was as if he could almost see his emotionally charged magic solidify around her.

"Okay then," she said tremulously, and the spell was broken.

He knew she'd felt it too then, and her shaky laugh sounded like a plea for normalcy, so he drew his hand back from where it had landed on the table, so close to hers.

"I don't know if you'll want me to meet your parents, though, after tomorrow."

Tomorrow?

The Ministry Gala.

Suddenly, it felt as though someone had poured a bucket of the river water over him. The Gala, the 'transformation', the bet.

The bet.

Fuck Merlin, the bet.

Draco felt shame and remorse wash over him as he watched Ginny push her hair behind her eyes forcibly, the nervousness in her eyes and in her fingers. No doubt, this was what had been weighing on her this morning as well.

It felt like so much had changed since the morning. So much had changed since he made the bet.

"Ginny," he began without thinking. Her dark eyes flashed to his in surprise, the tumultuous emotion in them interrupted.

He continued smoothly, ignoring the panic building in the base of his stomach.

"You're amazing. You've been amazing since the start, and you're more than ready for anything that happens tomorrow."

Ginny watched him, her mouth open at the unequivocal compliment from Draco Malfoy.

Resisting the urge to squirm at her gaze, Draco found refuge in habit. Smirking, he added, "And if anybody is fool enough to not see that, I'll personally hex them."

After a moment of thought in which he prayed to the stars to get him out of the mess he'd built around himself, he amended. "Hexing's more up your alley. I'll get them fired, though."

Ginny laughed as loudly as ever, and glancing over at her, Draco felt as if he could hold onto this day – onto this night under the stars – forever.

A star twinkled up above them, as if to say: maybe he could.