Holly, glitter, dashing

This was written as a present for idreamofdraco in the 2017 DG Forum Secret Santa Exchange. Cheers to my second year participating!

Second half of Ginny's last year of Hogwarts, not Epilogue-compliant

It was Christmas-time at Hogwarts. Today was the last day of exams, and once Ginny had suffered through her Transfiguration Exam, there was one last thing to look forward to before the holiday break. Every year, the student's of Hogwarts held an invite-only Christmas Party, the season's worst kept secret. The Weasley twins had started the tradition the year before they left Hogwarts for good, and in the years that had followed, the event had only grown more extravagant. Some years were formal, some years were costume parties, one had been an ugly Christmas sweater. But every year, the party was generously supplied with Butterbeer, Firewhiskey, and enough champagne to get most of the older students at Hogwarts completely, sopping drunk.

Ginny walked through the halls of Hogwarts, down from the Gryffindor Common room to the Dining Hall for breakfast. She very warily trod on the moving stair wells, hyper vigilant. Someone had decided that decorating the banisters and handrails with holly boughs would be festive. As an unforeseen consequence, it also meant no one could hold on to the stairwell. Several times in the last few weeks, she had thoughtlessly grabbed onto the handrail to steady herself when the stairs jolted into movement, pricking herself in the process. Once she reached solid ground, she resumed her studying, her eyes scanning over her Transfiguration notes as she walked, but her mind on the impending party.

She looked forward to it every year. Initially, she had been more of a spectator. The first few years, she had been too young to drink. Ever since the first year, she had helped plan the party, from decoration to activities, theme, music, the whole event, but had to fight to even come. The twins knew she deserved to come enjoy herself, but Ron was against it, and the thought of what their mother would say if they ever found out was enough to make all four of them hesitate. But they compromised: Ginny worked the drinks table, bartending, but not drinking any herself. The next year, Ron hadn't let her have more than a glass of champagne. But the last few years had been without Ron's supervision, and while Ginny had always behaved herself, she looked forward to cutting loose tonight.

She had been planning the party for weeks, sneaking in preparations and ordering supplies between classes. George had been exceptionally accommodating this year: decorations, food, all on Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Although, Ginny noticed, George seemed to be routing the drinks through a separate account. After everything that had happened this year, since the battle in June, it seemed like the most important thing George could do was to indulge in traditions from his time with Fred. It broke her heart.

Everyone she knew was trying to recreate their lives from before the war. Hermione was back at school, completing her seventh year at Hogwarts with Ginny's year, while simultaneously working with the Ministry's department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, trying to get house elves, giants, and centaurs the recognition they deserved for their efforts during the war. She would leave on Fridays and come back late on Sunday evenings, working weekends and some odd mornings to keep pace. That was just Hermione for you: school was so important she couldn't let it go, but work was so exciting she couldn't wait to get started.

Ron was working for the department of Magical Law Enforcement, splitting time between official Auror training and necessary field work, and the Improper Use of Magic Office, working with their father in the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects Office. Arthur needed the help. Death Eaters were on the run everywhere and were constantly flinging half-baked, desperate offensive spells at unprepared Aurors. And now that a bunch of monied old families were on the run, their loyalty no longer in question, a suspicious number of formerly "missing" illegal family treasures were popping up on the black market, and most were cursed with actively malicious spells.

Harry was resting. Or hiding, as Ginny saw it. He was staying at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, helping raise Victoire and bringing Teddy from his grandmother periodically. According to the short, scrawled letters from Bill, Harry got up early and went for a walk to visit Dobby's grave every morning, and then helped with the babies, read books, and sat and looked at the sea a lot. He would disappear for days at a time, they didn't know to where, but he would come back eventually. He seemed listless.

Ginny was polite, but firm in her responses to Bill, and anyone who asked. Harry needed time on his own. He had said so. Any attempts she had made to the contrary did not work, and were not worth her time at this stage. She was only seventeen, and she had no business trying to fix anyone. She was tired of being a rock for the boy who lived, especially when he didn't seem that interested in her anyways. So, they were officially 'not an item.' And probably wouldn't be again.

It was time for her to start presenting herself as an individual, separate from her relationship to anyone from the 'Golden Trio'. She owed herself that.

Ginny found herself contemplating her friends and family all the way to the breakfast table, then put them firmly out of her mind. A lengthy Transfiguration written and practical exam was still ahead of her. She needed to perfectly transform that macaque into macrame if she wanted to scrape an O in a subject in which she was normally mediocre. She bent her thoughts back to studying her notes and determining the intricacies of the transition from monkey to collection of artfully tangled knots and back again.

After her test, Ginny was exhausted. Her macrame had been a little tangled, and she'd dropped a few stitches in the transfiguration, but the macaque came back perfectly fine. Hopefully it would be enough. Now she just needed to get ready for the party.

Racing up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, Ginny thought through what she was going to wear. There was no dress code this year, and she was free to dress however she liked. The theme, was, more or less, 'Home'. She wanted to recreate a sense of a comfortable past, the cozy nights from the common room she remembered from her first five years at Hogwarts. She had a skirt and tights she knew she wanted to wear, and paired with some black leather heels from a Muggle second hand store, she just needed to decide whether she was bold enough to wear the silver blouse she had tucked away. It had been a birthday present from Fleur, who insisted the slippery silver would "make 'er 'air shine like fire!" It was so French, just like everything about Fleur.

As Ginny turned the corner onto another set of steps, she saw a white blond head in front of her, leisurely climbing the stairs, glancing at paintings. Was that Draco Malfoy? A standing invitation to all Hogwarts Alumni allowed them to revisit school premises any time they wished (and that invitation extended to the upcoming Holiday party), but rarely did people actually come back. Even Hermione, who was still a student, wasn't coming to the party tonight. She and Ron and a "special dinner" planned. Ginny had rolled her eyes when she heard that. And yet, here was the reclimbing pariah of Slytherin house. He was tall, and more filled out than she remembered. Muscular, but carefully covered in a sleek, all black suit, and collared black shirt. With his hands in his pockets, the only skin Ginny could see was his face, his skin smooth, alabaster, and clean shaven. His hair was cut smartly, carefully styled to look just a little messy. He looked like a roman statue come to life, dressed in Armani, and sent to wander. Ginny braced herself to breeze past him, and started taking steps two at a time, just a bit too fast. Then the stairwell jerked and started to turn.

"Shit," she mutter as she grabbed out for the handrail. "FUck!" she said louder, as she put her hand right into a holly bough and poked herself in about 15 places. Retracting her hand quickly, she stumbled and bumped into the very person she had been trying to squeeze past unnoticed.

"Ms. Weasley?" he said politely, but coldly, steadying her.

"Malfoy. Uh, thanks, I'm fine," she said lamely. "I, uh, didn't want to bother you, but then the stairs… and the damn holly." She turned to face him, feeling the blush rise high in her cheeks. She tried to quell it, avoiding thinking about how sharp Malfoy's angular jawline looked, just above her eye level. If she wanted to, she could just lean in and tuck herself under it, push herself up against his broad frame. The blush was definitely not going away.

He cocked an eyebrow, very characteristically. "They always move when you least expect them to." Ginny was somewhat taken aback by the lack of malice in his tone. "Still, a little clumsy," he said flatly. That was a little more in keeping with what she expected. In school, Draco Malfoy had been outright antagonistic, when he was not being overtly abusive. Now, he worked for his family company, and that involved spending a lot of time at the Ministry, both for personal and for legal reasons, testifying against old Death Eaters. So, naturally, he bumped into Ron a bunch, and if Ron's complaining was anything to go on, Draco's manner had transitioned from annoyingly invested to irritatingly aloof and vague. Almost like his mind was somewhere else, and he had better things to do than worry about Harry Potter and his friends. Which of course was endlessly frustrating to Ron, who would have liked nothing better than to continue to butt heads with Malfoy until the day one of them died of brain trauma.

"Yea, a mind of their own... Can I ask what you're doing here?" Ginny found the change in Draco intriguing. Obviously, this new attitude was for the better, and not a signal foreboding change and a new malicious evil. Ginny thought that maybe Draco Malfoy was just growing up. He'd been through absolute hell during the last two years.

"Visiting? Plus a little birdie told me there was going to be a ton of booze, and someone needed to watch his sister." Draco looked over each shoulder and then at her, a little conspiratorially, as though they were sharing a secret.

"Ha, uh oh, who needs babysitting?" Ginny grinned. She knew some of Draco's old school friends had younger sisters, some in her year. She wondered which of them was the subject of Draco's surveillance.

A tiny smirk crept onto Draco's face, the corner of his mouth raising up as a teasing twinkle entered his eye. "Did George not tell you the Malfoy's have been investing in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for the better part of a year?" Ginny's stomach bottomed out. This change of topic did not bode well for her. He continued, "Well, I'm trying to distance the family from our reputation of dark and brooding formalities. It seemed a prudent investment, a joke shop in a post-war economy. And, to go with our new image, I prefer to meet with my business partners over a few whiskeys in the meeting room, and then beers at the Leaky Cauldron. Plus it just gets people chatting..." he paused, leaned in, and said low under his breath, "and asking for favors."

Ginny tensed. He smelled like wood smoke and musky cologne. His knowing face looking down at her made her question what it was he thought he knew. She hoped he couldn't feel her excitement at having him so close. It was like flirting with a wolf. Or a snake.

"What, exactly, do you gain from this favor?" She turned and started walking up the stairs. He put his hands behind his back and began to walk with her.

"Oh, just a pleasant visit back to my school, the stomping ground of my youth. I get to lord it over darling Ronald's head that I kept his baby sister safe for the evening, a deed which itself is unobjectionable to anyone. Maybe someday I'll gently remind George of it when I need something. And of course, I get the pleasure of your company for the evening." Draco listed the items off casually, but sarcastically. Each of Draco's justifications seemed to have been carefully considered, but there was still that lilting teasing quality to Draco's voice that made Ginny want to rise to some invisible bait she couldn't quite identify. They had reached the landing and turned down the hall to the Gryffindor Common room.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Ginny was extremely suspicious of this change in his demeanor. She kept expecting him to insult her, or pull some prank.

"Playing at? I assure you my intentions are good." He was lying. Something in her gut told her so. Ginny narrowed her eyes, squinting up and Draco with obvious mistrust. Draco looked the picture of innocence, although a small smile played on the corners of his lips. He was definitely hiding something.

Ginny played the game. "Did my brothers, pray tell, explain why they thought I needed a supervisor for the evening when I am a fully grown witch, capable of handling my own business?" She was gently fuming at the implication that she was an incompetent. Her brothers never accepted that she was a responsible adult, and had been competently balancing school, family, war efforts, and a real social life for years, in some ways better than any of them.

"You're more than capable. I know you've planned these parties essentially by yourself for the last four years, and they are executed flawlessly each time. You handle yourself with grace and tact, the model hostess. I've always admired that in you, and it's clear you are a cut above the hothead your brother Ron is." Ginny was shocked. Draco had always paid so much attention to her brother, and so little to her, she had figured that he hadn't ever really noticed her. He rarely talked to her. And yet, here he was, commenting on watching and noticing her for some years. He continued on, sounding a little beleaguered. "Regardless of all the evidence to the contrary, George was going on about being worried that you were going to get drunk, and try to fill the Harry shaped hole in your heart with whichever strapping young lad you chose. Utter nonsense, but I couldn't calm him down. So here I am."

"And I'm just supposed to accept that you and George are great chums with no mention of it previously?" she challenged.

He looked down his nose at her. "That's basically the idea, yes." Ginny rolled her eyes and looked up at him from under raised eyebrows. Draco raised his left hand and put his right on his heart. "On a Malfoy's honor."

Ginny snorted. "Not so much to that." She remembered that the Malfoys had acted as Voldemort's lackeys for years, and then betrayed him at the critical moment. Although, maybe that was the best thing they could have done.

"Maybe not socially, but in business, it's a reliable promise." Draco pulled a wry face, the corner of his mouth raising in a way that indicated he remembered the same instance.

"I shouldn't keep you any longer. You need to get ready for the party, and you should eat a full dinner as well. It's bad practice to drink on an empty stomach." He ducked his head to look her straight in the eyes, and said, "I look forward to escorting you to the party this evening."

And he strolled away, feigning a polite interest at a few portraits who were raising their middle fingers at him.

As Draco walked away, he smirked a little to himself, thinking of the way Ginny's cheeks flushed when he'd caught her on the stairs. He'd seen her coming from a few flights away, and wasn't surprised when she tried to blast past him. And he was even less surprised when the stairs jerked to push them together. The castle itself was a huge prick, and would do anything to inconvenience and tease students. Draco wondered sometimes if it had a real mind of its own somewhere. He'd like to shake it's hand. He'd managed a non-antagonistic conversation with Ginny Weasley, and by his reckoning, she felt like she was at fault for bumping into him.

During their chat, he had been completely honest with Ginny, just not truthful. About two weeks before, George had confessed to him during one of their later nights at the pub that he was worried about Ginny at the Christmas party.

"That's moronic," said Draco, bluntly. He and George had started off as business partners, but their friendship was developed enough that Draco could be himself around the Weasley now: somewhat abrasive, without it being confused for the bully Draco had been previously. "Ginny's an adult now, and you have to let her take care of herself. She's going out into the world in six months. You going to tail her to every work party too?"

"No, I just… She's so young still! And there's that bullshit with Harry." George said somewhat defeatedly, sloshing his pint around on the table.

"Bullshit? Everything's bullshit with Potter," said Draco into his whiskey.

"Hey, just 'cause you two decided to be mortal enemies on sight when you were, what - eleven? - is not a good excuse to beat up on him now!"

"No, a much better one is that he's been hiding in a seaside cottage for six months while the rest of us had to scrape the rubble up and get on with our lives," Draco said dryly.

"Fair enough," said George. "And he deserves a break, but he left Gin in the lurch, and I'm worried those hormones and booze will take over, and…" George trailed off, looking miserable, and fingering his scarred ear. "I'd go watch her myself, but I have to watch the shop that night. Holiday rush is where we make the most of our profits this quarter. And it's pretty much the same story for all my brothers. Work, babies, other engagements," he said as though dark deeds yet unspoken were in the works. Draco raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of whiskey, but didn't pry.

"And you're getting a little old to come to a party of teenagers, even if you did start the damn thing," Draco added. He paused, gauging the opportunity he saw ahead of him. "Why don't I go?"

George looked incredulous. "You? She barely knows you, and what she does know she doesn't like! It took me months to believe you were serious about investing, and then another few months to be friends…"

"Ehh, I'm a different man than I was in school. I can charm her into suffering my presence, and keep her safe. And if not, no loss. If she's too worked up, annoyed at my presence to be distracted by some spotty Hufflepuff, then your fears are assuaged!" He raised his glass to his brilliant plan.

"You really aren't so bad. Plus, even if you talk to her once, no other guy's going to want to get close, in case they tread on your toes." George contemplated for a second, before a new grimace washed over his face. "And if she did get with anyone, it would not be a Hufflepuff."

"See, I call that prejudiced. Some of them are quite prodigious in bed," Draco said winking. It was no secret that he slept outside of the Slytherin pool, especially since graduation. Experience was prided by Purebloods, and outside of marriages, which were always political, they weren't always too picky about their partner's arbitrary school sorting.

"Hey, how do I know I'm not sending a wolf to protect my flock? You may be the most dangerous thing in the room to my sister, especially with an attitude like that!" George glared at him with new suspicion. The rumours, many of them true, of Draco's sexual history had reminded George of what might happen at the party, what he feared most.

Draco put his right hand on his heart, and lifted his left, whiskey still in it, as though being sworn into court, a gesture of promise. "I solemnly swear I will not touch your sister." George raised a glass to drink to it, and took in a big gulp. Draco continued impishly, "Unless she comes to me first." George choked on his mouthful of beer, and looked at Draco with narrowed eyes.

"You cheeky bastard," coughed out George as his wiped himself off with a sopping hand.

"Slytherin!" Draco said, smiling to himself and finishing his drink.

At the time, he had meant it as playful banter. Draco did not intend to pursue George's baby sister. Ginny had been cute growing up, but red hair was not typically in Draco's taste, and his conversations with her in the past had been minimal. Mostly she stood over Potter's shoulder while Draco had flung insults at the whole group. But now, he had had a charming, if brief, conversation with her. She seemed like she understood the battle of words Draco loved so much. She was more like George in that way. And he had seen her at the Christmas party every year, and she was always polite, tactful, and charming. She normally had a group of people around her, and was able to keep court and make people from each of the houses get along. It reminded Draco of his mother, champagne glass in hand, brokering marriages and political alliances for cousins and family friends at the annual parties she always held at Malfoy Manor. As beautiful as she was, she was a shrewd politician, and knew exactly what she was doing when it came to manipulating people.

Where Narcissa was cunning, Ginny was jolly. No less clever, but would cheerfully, and wittily lead people through conversations, get them to admit more than they wanted, and then she would use that information to create the best situation for all parties involved. He'd seen her save one relationship and create two more during the Christmas party of '95 alone. She was a social businesswoman in that way, and it got Draco thinking. This girl was worth her mettle, and, if she'd let him, he'd like to be her friend. Or maybe a little more.

Whereas she had been cute before, Ginny was blossoming into a real beauty. The angles she had inherited from her father balanced out the roundness from her mother, and left her with a lean athlete's build, and a striking face. She was almost feral, and the muscles she had built through years of playing as a chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team made her legs and ass very shapely, and inspired Draco to imagine the young redhead in many compromising positions. He sighed a little, remembering the promise he had made to George Weasley: keep her from sleeping with anyone. The very reason he was here and getting to admire Ginny's fine form. He wasn't allowed to touch her.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try to get her to touch him.