A/N: First Drinny. For some reason, I'm in the mood to write from her perspective lately!

Ginny stared at the ceiling. It was daylight, by the time she realized she had made a mistake. A massive, irreversible mistake that she could never take back, no matter how bad she wanted to. There were some things magic couldn't fix, and the loss of ones virginity was one of them. In a way, she was glad it happened like this. Summer was over. Quidditch Training Camp was to start in a few days.

She would never see him again — I'll never see him again — and the thought of that was both comforting and unsettling, in its own special way.

One Week Ago

It was nothing like she imagined. There were tons of people around, all socializing and mingling over red wine and the finest hors d'oeuvres money could buy. It came to no great surprise that she hated the taste of wine and loathed the fact that she had to stand idly by, listening to some big wig prattle on and on about his latest investment, whilst delicately nibbling on crudités like a nice little witch.

No, she hated all of those things.

But she had to put up with them, for Hermione.

Neither of them managed to sustain their relationships, which left big, gaping holes in their lives. If Ginny was in need of a plus one, Hermione was there. If Hermione was in need of a plus one, Ginny was there. Over the summer, it had become routine for them. And although Ginny was more than happy to show support for her friend in all her latest ventures — as the youngest witch ever to have a seat on the Wizengamot — she couldn't for the life of her find joy in all the society parties and galas and benefits.

It was all such a charade, she felt. The decoration, the venues, the fine dining, the silverware, the anecdotes and most especially, the company.

She couldn't stand it.

Luckily, the hotel in which the current benefit happened to be in, had a nice garden area. Ginny slipped away from the crowd; an untouched glass of wine in her hand and a gaze that wandered through the starlit display of roses, chrysanthemum, white orchids and magnolias. She came to a slow stop near the pond, the calm, tranquil surface of which was decorated in nymphaea.

It was all quite beautiful, really.

But the most jaw dropping part had yet to come.

Ginny snapped a look to the left, skin tingling as she heard the sound of . . .

"Hello?" she voiced, slowly making her way through the garden to find a smartly dressed wizard slumped in the corner, a glass of cognac in his clutches and an unkempt, messy look to his blonde hair. A swift jolt went through her, as she recognized him. "Malfoy? What — what are you doing here?"

Roughly one year older than the last time she'd seen him, he didn't look all that different. Malfoy glanced up, as though he had only just noticed she was there, and burst out laughing. Not a rude, hateful, mocking way like he used to — but in a desperate, slightly insane and slightly inebriated way.

"Bad night?" Ginny asked, totally unsure of whether she should just turn back and leave.

Malfoy drowned his last few twitches of laughter in a mouthful of cognac. "Run along, little girl. You've no idea what a bad night looks like."

She lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Have I offended you?" he asked, visibly sincere of not for the faint smirk on his lips. "You probably don't like being referred to as 'little'. The only girl in a houseful of boys. I'm sure it was such a pain growing up the way you did. Constantly dismissed and underestimated by your older brothers." He tilted back another mouthful, choking on it as he laughed. "How tragic for you."

Ginny folded her arms. "You done?"

Malfoy stretched the kinks out to his back and stood. "Just about," he said, knocking back some more liquor whilst dragging his body to the pavilion.

For whatever reason, she followed him, if only to make sure he didn't tip over into the pond and drown. "You know there are a ton of journalists on the other side of the property," she said. "If any of them were to see you —"

"I'm an ex-Death Eater," he cut in, turning his body to her, as he rested an elbow on the stone railing of the pavilion, leaning on it. "I hardly think a few drinks will give the press a field day."

"Looks to me like you've had more than a few."

"So?"

"So, nothing. If you want to get drunk by yourself on a Wednesday night, that's your business."

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her. "Well, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

"Doesn't count if I'm not drinking."

"Why don't you?"

She shrugged. "I don't like the taste of it."

"I'm sure you would if you were introduced to the right blend," he said casually. "Not everyone likes red."

"Ah, let me guess . . . you're one of the few who do?"

His smile was easy. "Given that my family owns a winery, yes. I quite like my reds."

A swift silence followed.

She quickly looked to the garden, ignoring the subtext in his words and the fact that his eyes were on her, looking at her in that way. Did he know? Was he aware? Was he too drunk to realize? She brushed aside the notions and forced down a small mouthful of the wine. "So what are you doing here anyway?"

Malfoy looked away, to her relief. "I was invited by a friend . . . of sorts."

"You're on a date?" Ginny asked, mildly appalled.

He laughed. "Oh, don't be so judgmental. The only reason she invited me was to satisfy her parents' wishes that she spend time with . . . someone of a similar background."

"She's pureblood."

"Yes, and her family is almost as wealthy as mine."

"And you're avoiding her because?"

"She's really here to spend time with Muggle-born Christopher from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and I don't fancy the role of third wheel."

Ginny slowly nodded. "Of course. You're the stand-in."

"Correct."

"Well, you're not doing a very good job of it from out here."

He shrugged. "I don't know. All the noise and hypocrisy in there just does my head in. It's always so loud and so —"

"Constant?"

"Yeah," he nodded, falling silent as he looked at her — really looked at her. "So you hate it too, huh?"

She ignored the feeling in her chest. "I wouldn't be out here if I didn't."

Malfoy laughed humourlessly. "Figures," he said. "There's a world of people out there but we're the only ones who get it."

"I doubt we're the only ones," she shrugged. "Maybe the only ones at this benefit, sure . . . or in the city . . . or in England, but — fuck, that's depressing."

He emptied the cognac between his lips. "Tell me about it."

Ginny exhaled, deeply.

An hour ago, she fantasized about going home to her flat and taking a long, hot bath with some candles and music in the background. Now, she was loitering in the back garden of a charity benefit, with Draco Malfoy. The worst part was — she didn't want to go home anymore. Whilst society gatherings were full of noise and hypocrisy, home was . . . quiet. So quiet, in fact, that she could hear all those voices creeping up in her ears, asking her why she was alone and what she could have done differently.

She hated the noise, but she hated the quiet, too.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Malfoy asked.

Ginny looked to him, having forgotten he was there for a moment. "And go where?"

"There's a . . . pretty decent view of the area from the penthouse," he explained. "If you want, we could head over there and figure out what kind of wine you like or something."

Something tugged at her chest, but she tried not to show it. "Okay," Ginny agreed, despite every shred of logic. "Let's do that."