DISCLAIMER - We do not claim to own, or have previously owned any characters or plots included in J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT - IN WHICH THERE IS MORE ROMANCE IN HOGSMEADE

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By now, their stroll had taken them to Hogsmeade's one and only wand shop run by Mr. Olivander's twin brother. Both were well known for their remarkable memory and quality wands.

Draco pulled open the smudged, foggy door. "Ladies first," he whispered through their silent link. Ginny blinked at the teasing voice that brushed her mind and turned to him with questioning eyes, unsure if it was he who had spoken or her imagination.

"Well, Weasley?" he asked. "Are you going in or not?"

Ginny smiled and sauntered into the murkily lit shop. Before her eyes could adjust to her surroundings, a thin, elderly voice addressed her.

"Why, it's another Weasley." The old shopkeeper’s sapient green eyes met Ginny’s with an unusual keenness considering his ripe age. "I was wondering when the little Weasley daughter would buy her first wand." He winked, clambering down a dusty ladder with surprising speed and agility. "I've been waiting." Under his tall, stiff, wizard's hat and silver hair was a face weathered with life and wisdom. Unlike Mrs. Weatherspoon who had blended into her mysterious dark-charms surroundings, Mr. Olivander jumped out. His bright smile clashed with the thick cobwebs that threatened to overtake what little space the store had for movement. His skin was no
longer smooth, but his youthful sagaciousness and savvy nimbleness rang louder than wrinkles and sunspots. Forest-green robes brought out sharp eyes and his tall stature painted him an ominous figure. He tapped his own maplewood wand and yards of measuring tape swirled from thin air and circled Ginny, meticulously measuring her as if for dress robes.

The elderly man then turned to the entering Slytherin. "Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Fancy seeing you accompanying Miss Weasley."

"Mr. Olivander," he replied acknowledging the shopkeeper as the door swung shut behind him.

"My brother told me about you. If I'm not mistaken, your wand is a rather remarkable eleven and a half-inch sandalwood made from a tree nourished with dragon's blood and tears. The core a..., a basilisk heartstring encrusted with ground dragon scales and faerie dust," he recited proudly.

"It was the only wand made from that tree and dragon," Draco added nonchalantly.

"Quite right, my boy." He turned back to Ginny. "Now, about you Miss Weasley." With another tap of his wand, the swirling tape spun from the befuddled redhead and retreated almost sadly into an empty corner, dissolving into the wood paneled wall.
The shop was cluttered with long aisles and shelves that stood like an army regiment,
numerous and close together, stocked with dusty boxes. Piles of empty cardboard boxes and useless wand scraps were swept into a dark corner. Despite the disorderly and neglected state that plagued his shop, Mr. Olivander somehow managed to maintain a clear mind.

He steered Ginny into the second aisle from the right. "Of the six Weasley children that have purchased wands from my brother and I, four have found their wands in aisle two."

"Oh," Ginny answered, finding no better reply.

"Fred had a seven-inch pine with unicorn hair and mermaid scales. George had a seven-inch oak with mermaid hair and centaur horn. Ron and his nine inch maple wood and...," he trailed off, realizing his customer's smiling and nodding face veiled growing impatience. "Well, anyway, now there's you...the first Weasley-born female in over a millennium."

"I am?" Ginny asked, surprised.

"Oh, yes. Definitely. The last Weasley-born female died well over a thousand years ago."

Ginny's eyebrows rose as they entered the aisle, but she said nothing more.

"Ahh, here we are!" The old wizard bent over to pull a box out from the bottommost shelf. "Try this. It's an eight and a half inch holly with unicorn hair."

Ginny fished the wand out from its open box. The smooth polish gleamed just a bit
too much. It felt wrong in her hands - too short, too long, too heavy, too light. At the instruction of Mr. Olivander, she waved it about awkwardly. Nothing happened. She shrugged and replaced it back into its container, somewhat relieved that the wand didn't want her.

"Didn't think so anyway..." Mr. Olivander muttered, jamming the box back on to the shelf. "Here, try this. It's a seven-inch pine filled with centaur hair."

This wand felt better in her palm than the first, but it was plain and ordinary. Reluctantly, she let the wand dance through the air. Nothing. Not to be discouraged, Mr. Olivander pulled out another box. "How about this? A ten-inch oak with a phoenix feather." A feeling of idiocy set in as she once again found herself waving a stick sadly in the air.

She had to admit the ten-inch oak felt perfect, but apparently didn't like her back. Fine, it wasn't that great itself.

Mr. Olivander grumbled something Ginny couldn't hear. Draco did however and in
turn, chuckled snidely. She sniffed airily and looked away to Mr. Olivander. He was atop an ancient ladder, tossing down boxes at an alarming rate. His mouth ran even faster. With each new addition on the ground, he listed its attributes. "Maplewood and faerie wings. Eight inches. Cedar and elf hair, nine. Bamboo and griffin tail hair, seven and a half. Pale oak and..."

Ginny soon lost track of what he was saying as she frantically waved each wand before another box tumbled down. Ten minutes later, a collection of failed wands was piled in a crumpled heap in aisle two. "Let's try another row," Mr. Olivander decided. "Mr. Malfoy, clean this up if you please."

"I'm not cleaning anything. I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys don't -," he started, but the shop owner and his redheaded customer had already disappeared into the next aisle. Grumbling, he began to toss the wands into the boxes at his feet. Before long, aisle six was deemed useless as well as aisle one. Aisle four, five and seven followed suit. Draco had blatantly refused to clean up anymore rejected wand piles and Ginny's wrist hurt from hasty wand flicking. On the other hand, Mr. Olivander was in good spirits, leading them to the final aisle. "This is it," he said solemnly. "If we don't find it here, I'm afraid I won't have a wand for you. Aisle three holds our controversial wands, created out of experimentation. They may prove to be very disagreeable to the user."
Ginny nodded and sighed, vaguely reminded of the exhausting shoe shopping rampages she and Yvette often embarked on.

Alert evergreen eyes narrowed as they scrutinized each shelf, as if glaring at the dull, uniformed box surfaces would reveal the potency within. After a spell of grave concentration, he drew his own wand. "Accio ladder," he called. Slowly but surely, telltale thumps sounded off as the aged contraption made its way towards them like an elderly troll lady. Draco hastily shifted to the side as it slammed into the shelves, causing all its contents to tremble as in terror. Mr. Olivander scrambled up the ladder's rickety steps and carefully extracted a box. "This one was made with a trial core." He handed it to her, while scanning for the next wand candidate.

She snapped open the box and lifted a long, slim cherry wood wand from the satin padded depths. She felt warmth vent from its fragrant surface, travel up the length of her arm and spread throughout her body, like steam rising from hot chocolate over her face on icy January mornings. She smiled confidently and thrust the smooth wood into the air. Immediately, sparks flew from the tip, dancing around Ginny in a starry stream. They swirled from head to toe, dousing her in a cloud of light. The air stood completely still as Draco and Mr. Olivander covered their eyes from the vibrant bits of brightness surrounding her body. Ginny closed her eyes, absorbing the tingling aura of moonlit dust. When she lifted her lids, the magical particles were gone. The murky light prevailed once more. Ginny broke into a smile as she lowered her wand.

Mr. Olivander cleared his throat. "That one appears to suit you quite well. Would you like me to wrap it for you?"

"No, that's alright," Ginny replied, benignly tucking it into her robes. She faced Draco. "We should leave now."

He nodded. "How much do I owe you, Mr. Olivander?"

"Twenty-five galleons, as usual."

Wordlessly, Draco reached into his robes and handed to him a small sack of galleons. "There's a little something extra in here, since we took so much of your time."

"Oh, not at all. Don't worry about it," the old man replied, though pocketing the entire bag. "Thank-you."

Draco nodded and made his way out to the door. Ginny trailed behind him, a small bounce accentuating her steps. Before she exited his dim little shop, she turned to Mr. Olivander and flashed him a brilliant smile. "Thank-you," she said, sincerity in every syllable.

***********

The sunlight was blinding after the wand shop’s musty atmosphere. Walking down the street, Ginny couldn't take her eyes off her new wand. It was her wand. It belonged to her. It fit her like it would no one else, not like some hand me down Percy had grown out of. This was a wand crafted for her and only her. She couldn't pull the dizzying jubilance from her face as she examined it from tip to tip. Unscratched and polished, the cherry wood practically glistened in the pale morning light. Breathing out another happy sigh, she pocketed it, knowing that HER wand was in HER robes. Abruptly, she turned to Draco and threw her arms around him.

While one eyebrow had been raised previously at her dazed smile and jolting strut, he was taken aback even more. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, she released him and skipped joyously down the street, nearly colliding with a few last-minute Christmas shoppers. He followed, uncertainty marking his footsteps. When Ginny had finally tired from skipping and the jubilance had dulled to a calmer euphoria, she plopped down on a street bench in front of a fountain, centered in the town square. She waited for him to catch up with her. When he did, she turned to him with a shy smile.

He looked at her coolly, "Yes?" he drawled. Her timid grin widened foolishly as she stared into his statuesque expression. No matter what angle his face tilted or what kind of posture he exhibited, Draco Malfoy was like a masterpiece by Da Vinci. No matter how deeply she peered into his eyes or how bright her smile, his perfect icy coat would never chip or melt. Yet, in some heart-warming way, she felt that he was her icy sculpture. Like the fairy princess's frog, he would melt into a handsome prince when immersed in her love. Not that he wasn't already a handsome prince. Draco Malfoy was so flawless, Ginny often found him hard to touch. Always calm and confident, always unreachable. Every word out of his mouth was calculated and every move he made was carefully planned. This earned him respect in Ginny's eyes, however grudgingly it was given.

"Yes, Weasley?" he asked again.

"Nothing, Malfoy." She shook her head. They stood and continued to travel down the dusty streets. At times, Draco Malfoy was down right infuriating, as he had always been till this year. Yet in his eyes, she was now more than another one of Harry Potter's groupies. Somehow, she became more than another Weasley, more than Ron's little sister. For once she was special, her own individual. But why? The question presided in the back of her mind as a dark shadow she stubbornly refused to shed light on. She enjoyed his attention. It felt liberating to be the pursued rather than the one pursuing. Heaven knew Harry never treated her as anything but a stuffed doll. At first, Malfoy's presence had been irritating and alarming. Then slowly, he crept into her mind when she didn't expect it. He became a part of her life. She expected him to help her with potion's homework late on Sunday nights. She expected the teasing half-smile that he wore when they argued, which was nearly every second of their time spent together. At least that part of the 'Weasley-Malfoy' relationship hadn't changed. They squabbled everyday over everything. But while verbal conflicts made up seventy-percent of their dialogue, they no longer grated her nerves. She became frustrated, because he was often right and because his wit was sharp, but never truly angry. It was like how she was no longer annoyed with Harry for ignoring her, Ron for being thick, Hermione for being insufferably smart, or Yvette for being beautiful. Malfoy was just Malfoy and he shared a friendship with her despite the headaches they caused one another.

Now why would Draco Malfoy, who was mentally acute, handsome, witty and suave be interested in her plain Weasley self? Unconsciously, she wrapped her arm around his and pulled herself closer to him, trying to absorb his bodily warmth.

As they traveled down Main Street, they passed a large, majestic shop. Ginny stopped their leisurely stroll to examine the display windows. In it was a heavy white-gold necklace encrusted with jewels. Along the diamond chain, ruby droplets hung symmetrically, progressing in size towards a large central pendant. Draco, whose arm she still hugged on to, also stared through the glass.

"Just because its expensive doesn't mean it’s tasteful," he commented, condescension marking every syllable.

"Your existence proves that," Ginny muttered. "I wasn't looking at that monstrous thing anyway. I was looking at the painting to the right." It portrayed a young girl, clothed in a snow-white nightdress, radiating an aura of enchantment. Her head tilted upward, basking in serene moonlight. The peaceful glow splashed onto her face and brought out the subtle sorrow embedded in her face. Her eyes were closed as she stood on the edge of an elegant balcony, balanced atop the ivory railing. Her body leaned dangerously forward, silky blond hair blown behind her by the night's fierce wind.

Draco stared at the portrait, unmoved. "The shadowing isn't quite right," he stated flatly. "And the position she's in isn't physically possible. If her weight was so far forward, she would fall over."

Ginny continued to behold the painting, not phased by Draco's words.

"Besides," he continued. "It's a muggle painting."

"Can't you just appreciate something for its beauty?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper. Draco observed her silently as she studied the art, watching awe shine through blue and green flecks in her deer-like eyes. He turned back to the painting and nodded.
"Of course, Weasley," he replied. "Of course."

She made her way to the shop entrance and pushed it open, cautiously stepping inside. Within the interior of the sophisticated art gallery, magnificent statues were planted strategically to face the door. Ginny's eyes wandered over each one before focusing her gaze on the paintings that hung upon the stark white walls. Some depicted surreal, yet live scenes; others were of still life, literally. Fluffy clouds floated up near the wide cathedral ceiling, reflecting onto blue-gray marble floors. A simple staircase spiraled up to a hovering platform from the center of the room. Atop the platform was a marble counter and behind it sat a shrewd little man, head buried in a newspaper.

Ginny and Draco scanned the length of the store, taking in the simple, majestic beauty. Ginny took a step further into the room, her black-heeled clogs echoing delicately in the silent air. Draco stared not with her open-mouthed amazement, but with his usual self-indulged expression. However, if one were to look into his wandering eyes, they'd find silvery seas melted from once frozen ponds of gray.

The man at the counter glanced carelessly at them and resumed reading.

"...beautiful," Ginny murmured breathlessly. Draco could only nod in response. They remained mindlessly rooted for a few moments more. The paintings featured wondrous scenes from fairy tales and a child's imagination. Sun faeries danced across frozen lakes, fire blazing in a mystical trail behind them. Children rode on dolphins to visit beckoning mermaids.

At the back of the store, there was a collection of five paintings similar to the one in the front window. Ginny released Draco's arm, walking past all the fantastical splendor to the neglected corner. The paintings appeared to belong to a series with the same starry-eyed girl. In one, she smiled and winked, posed in royal robes while in another, she rested in a sunny, tropical garden. The third painting showed her swimming in the forest with elf-like grace. The next displayed her seated in front of a mirror, painting a portrait of herself. The last portrait echoed the eerie bittersweet softness of the painting in the display window. She held an infant in her arms, mother and child lost in death-filled melancholy as well as the joy of birth. They held each other's eyes, both sets violet and glowing with love for each other.

Ginny inched closer to the painting when a shout was interrupted her thoughts.

"Get away from there, girl!"

She jerked up hastily like a freshly popped piece of toast. The storeowner glared down from his perch. "You could never afford that," he sneered, in a nasal voice. "So why don't you leave before tainting my store with your poverty."

She pursed her lips in irritation. "How much is it?" she asked.

"More than what your entire family spends in a year for food, that's for sure." He snorted.

Ginny inhaled deeply, trying to squelch her growing fury. She stared at him angrily, but let her eyes return to the paintings. She exhaled wistfully.

"How much does it cost?" Draco spoke up, making his way to Ginny's side. The stubby man's eyes widened as fearful recognition dawned on his face.

"Mis..Mister Malfoy! I...I didn't see you there," he stuttered. "Were you interested in this painting?" He rushed down the staircase and scurried to their corner. He grimaced at Ginny. "Move out of the way, girl!" He turned his back to her rudely and faced Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, I painted all of these myself over years of hard work. You see, these are all one of a kind..." his whiney high-pitched speech trailed off as the attention of his prime customer was averted to the redheaded girl.

"Sir?" He stepped back, puzzled. Why would Draco Malfoy, who had royal blood in his veins consort with a mere Weasley? The tall, fair figure turned to the cowering shop owner and flashed a snarling smile.

"Excuse me, but I was talking to my friend, Virginia. She's the one who dragged me into this tasteless gallery. Show some courtesy to her or you'll lose a valuable customer."

He opened his mouth to reply, but Ginny cut him off. "Too late, he already did." She grabbed Draco's arm and flounced out of the store, dragging him behind her. They burst gratefully out onto the streets.

"Did you see that look on his face?" she laughed. "It was priceless."

Draco smirked. "He's a fake. He obviously didn't paint them."

"The paintings all had such different styles and the last one was definitely a self-portrait," Ginny agreed. "Still...whoever did paint them, they're beautiful." She glanced back briefly at the shop window where the lovely painting still hung. Sighing, she hurried to catch up with Draco who was already several paces ahead of her. Just when they had settled into a comfortable pace, she suddenly halted in her tracks and slipped into an empty alley. He continued to walk ahead, but she pulled him back to her.

"What is it now?" he snapped, only his voice lacked the proper irritation. He pushed away the urge to attempt the sentence again.

"I have something to tell you," she began. "I know this is abrupt and I would normally never say this to you, but it's proper at this point."

The way her eyes met his seemed to signify a gravity not unlike the mood of their conversation in the hospital wing after her second fainting spell. What was going to happen now? The way her warm, chocolatey depths poured into him through their gaze foreshadowed a monumental moment. Knowing Ginny Weasley, and yes he was beginning to know Ginny Weasley, she held true to her emotions. Whatever image lay upon the surface of her cappuccino eyes would reflect her next action. Her current expression was of growing infatuation. Suppressing a smirk, he mentally patted himself on the back. He had succeeded, she held her heart out to him in open hands. His family wouldn't die painfully or slowly after all. However, at that moment, the fate of the proud Malfoy heritage was the last thing on his mind. As she stepped closer to him, he could smell the sweet chamomile and jasmine scent of her hair and feel the warmth given off by her subtly trembling body.

Her lips parted slightly and she licked them gently, breaking into her trademark grin. Briefly, he wondered how her body could be so cold yet her eyes and smile so warm. She looked down and chuckled nervously. "I've been meaning to tell you this," she continued, peering up at him shyly. "Malfoy, I -" she paused again. "I-"

That was the breaking point for Draco. He knew what she wanted and he wanted it as much as she. "I-," she started again, but was interrupted by his lips pressing softly against her own. The two words she wanted to say remained at the tip of her tongue, but he brushed them away with his own. She leaned in willingly as he pulled her closer to him. Lost in the intoxicating moment, the outside world faded away and all they could perceive was each other. All that mattered was his surprisingly warm hold on her lower back and his long comforting fingers running through her hair. Then as tenderly as it had begun, it ended.

He pulled away, finally allowing a smirk to surface. Only somehow, it appeared as a full smile.

His lips left hers cold and numb, but his arms were still encircled around her waist. Gradually, she opened her eyes. Funny, she couldn't even remember when they had closed. He was smiling at her in a foolish manner and she returned to her original intention, finding her words once more.

"Malfoy, I...." she reached up and ran her fingers along his fine jaw-line. Her touch was as smooth as silk and as soft as feathers as it grazed his skin. Her gentle caress against his rough shaven texture was heaven on earth. "I just wanted to say-," she leaned in. "Thank-you," she whispered delicately before leaning in for another heady kiss.

Distracted by her tantalizing mouth, her words took several seconds to register. She tasted vaguely of cinnamon and strawberries, a combination foreign to him till now. Like the first, this kiss also ended too fast. It wasn't until afterwards that he realized
what she'd said.

"Thank-you," her voice echoed wispily in his memory. It was so soft he didn't believe he'd heard it.

"What?" he asked, brow furrowing slightly.

"Thank-you, Malfoy," she repeated.

"That's what you wanted to tell me?" he asked, half to himself.

"Yeah. Before you kissed me, all I wanted to do was say thank you."

"For...?"

"For defending me from that guy back there, for buying my first real wand, for being a friend..."

"That was it?"

She pulled away, puzzled by his sudden change of emotion. "What?" she asked, her voice growing livid. "What's wrong? Do you regret kissing me?"

A million responses bounced around inside his head but none made it to his lips. He looked confused, half-asking rather than his usual sureness.

Ginny stared at him questioningly for a moment and frowned. "What the fuck, Malfoy?" she spat. Their warm moment froze over and they returned to the cold winter day. She pushed out of his hold and spun away, annoyed. Where his hands had been were now cold, empty feeling spots.

Draco blinked, staring numbly after her. Suddenly, a wave of anger washed over him. "What do you mean, what the fuck?" He spun her around to face him once more. "What'd I do now, Weasley? Fucking tell me what I did wrong!"

Ginny's eyes widened in anger. "Why are you so upset?"

His grip tightened around her arms. "Why are you?"

"Malfoy, do you remember who I am?

His hands loosened. "Of course."

"Do you remember who you are?"

"What are you getting at?"

"My name is Virginia Weasley. You name is Draco Malfoy. Virginia Weasley and Draco Malfoy were kissing in a dark alley." Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "Why were they kissing in a dark alley? Why did he regret it afterwards? Why did-"

"Why does it matter?" he replied, fervency seeping through his even tone.

"Because," Ginny whispered, suddenly feeling very frail. "I think Virginia might be falling in love."

"With me?" he caught her helpless gaze.

He was pushing down on her with his sharp, gray eyes. It hurt. She couldn't move: she couldn't blink, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't respond. She probably couldn't stand up on her own. "With me?" he asked again, louder.

Meekly, she nodded. What was wrong with her? His eyes were icicles stabbing into her soul. They probed her insides, melting venom into her. She was numb, naked, mutilated into someone else. Then, as he leaned in towards her, she realized the venom wasn't poison, but a sweet, dizzying potion. She felt warm and safe as he melted himself into her, herself into him. And his lips were on hers again, hungry and eager. She was standing on toes now, pushing her mouth desperately closer to his, caressing the back of his neck and shoulders.

His large hands crushed her body into his own. She was so soft, her touch fitting his like a key into a lock. The world would freeze over if they didn't get closer, if they didn't close all space between their bodies. They were perfect for each other - ice and fire, hard and soft, yin and yang, antithetical. Reluctantly, he let her break away. She was so beautiful, with cheeks rosied by winter wind and lips bruised with kisses.

"We should get back," she whispered.

"We should," he agreed.

Ginny felt as if she were floating. Her only conscious thought was off Draco’s arms around her, his comforting touch, his reassuring scent. She was afraid he was only a wonderful dream. She was afraid he was a lovely mirage that would wisp away if she did so much as speak. So she remained silent, nestled in his hold, letting him guide her down the busy street. Unfortunately, Draco was caught up in his own dreamy state and the floating couple crashed into a debilitated wooden booth in their path.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. The young witch within the thin swaying walls didn't answer, simply adjusting her thick black-framed glasses. Small, silky tendrils hung free from her messy bun unnoticed as nimble fingers crafted delicate patterns in the glass. Curious, Ginny cocked her head to the side. A lump of glass rested in the artisan's right hand, as her left flittered in open air. Gradually, the glass elongated, widened, and solidified into a gleaming, translucent faerie. The woman smiled, exhaling for the first time since she began. Ginny smiled in delight as the woman tapped her creation, making it dance across the booth. The figurine froze in place when she tapped it again. After seeing her customer's disappointed face, she tapped it again, letting the glass creature spring back into life.

"The figure's movements are etched into its design," she explained. "When tapped, it will go through the same series of movements. Some are created in sets and thus react to one another. This particular piece is part of a pair." She motioned to the rest of her sculptures, letting her hand fall upon a sable dragon fitted together with opaque glass pieces. She carefully placed it next to the tiny faerie. The silvery, transparent dancer was only the size of one talon, but she showed no fear of the ebony dragon curled up in sleep. She danced upon his jeweled body and down his glistening tail, her own delicate figure reflecting off his body. She awoke him with a gentle kiss. He opened his gigantic palm, where she continued her faerie dance. There, their movements were paused and their moment frozen.

"Well?" The woman asked. "This would make a great Christmas or New Year's gift."

By then, Draco's arms had snake back around her waist and she nestled into him. She shook her head sadly. "I've already finished my holiday shopping." And went broke in the process, she added silently.

"I understand," the merchant replied, with a wink in Draco's direction. He nodded and pulled Ginny away from the booth.

"We have to return to Hogwarts before supper. They'll notice we're gone," he said.

"How do we get back?"

"You'll see." He smirked.

 

"Down that thing?" Ginny stared down the open gutter incredulously. An unpleasant aroma wafted from its murky depths and something seemed to be sloshing around down in the sewer water.

"You grasp the concept well," Draco laughed. "Well, ladies first."

"I'm not going first. You go," she cried indignantly.

"Fine." With that, he prepared to leap in.

"Wait!" she grabbed him back. "Why don't we go together? The hole's pretty big. We'd both fit."

"We can't," he stated simply. "People will see us when we come out of the portrait together. They'll talk."

"I don't care. Do you?"

He sighed. He knew it would come to this at some point. "We can't go in at the same time, Weasley. Surely you understand why. The portal will lead you back into school through the painting with the cat. From there, just go to your dormitory. I'll contact you via mind-ball later."

"Fine," she snapped irritably. With that, she dived into the dark, foul depths of the gutter.

Draco smiled to himself. He wouldn't go back just yet: he still had a bit of business to attend to in Hogsmeade.

*****************

Ginny tumbled through the cat painting, nearly falling into Snape's classroom door. Ignoring the curious glances from third year Ravenclaws traveling down the hall, she angrily stalked back to Gryffindor tower. Why didn't Malfoy want people to see them together? He initiated their relationship. He was adamant about being her friend. Why did he want to hide everything now? Especially after they shared those heart-wrenching kisses in the alley. Sighing, she stepped into her room and noticed one thing right away. On her bed was a brown parcel addressed to her in familiar, drawling cursive.

Cautiously, she untied it and folded the paper back. Inside was the very figurine she had admired. The faerie was still dancing upon the dragon's palm, the setting sun making her small slippers glitter.

To Ginny, the faerie that dances in my life.

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Thanks again to our lovely beta-reader, Viy.

~ Sellene

 

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