A/N: This is a collection of cookies I wrote and posted to my LiveJournal as a lead-in to the Christmas fic I'd planned. I thank (in no particular order) Scarlett, Thalia, Mynuet, Kirixchi, and Rainpuddle for their read-throughs, suggestions, hand-holdings and late-night chats. *glomps!*
Disclaimer: I'm still hoping to find Draco under the Christmas tree. Until that blessed day comes, I don't own him, or anything else JK Rowling lays claim to.
Ginny set the empty teacup down on the table at which she ate breakfast for seventeen years. Pushing her chair away, she stood up and gave her mother a hug. "Thanks for the tea," she whispered in her mother's ear.
Molly gave her daughter a comforting pat on the back. "I'm glad that we're friends again," she said by way of reply.
"Me too, mum," Ginny said. "Me too." She stepped out of her mother's arms and crossed the kitchen, stopping to lift her winter cloak from its resting place on the chair next to the door. She pulled it around her shoulders in an elegant gesture, the heavy velvet settling comfortably about her. She removed her leather gloves from one pocket and pulled them on, and then picked up the basket that had lain hidden under the folds of velvet.
"Will you be here for dinner on Sunday, dear?" Molly queried as Ginny's hand closed around the doorknob.
"Of course." Ginny gave a small wave, then turned the knob and stepped out into the early December air. The chill of midwinter had not yet approached, but it was cool enough that she was grateful for the weight of the cloak about her shoulders. Stepping off the porch, she crossed the yard and walked through the paddock in which Weasleys played Quidditch, to enter the protective stand of trees on the other side.
She'd Apparated out to the Burrow, not to have tea with her mother, but for these trees. She stopped at the first pine she encountered in her walk, and after a moment's examination determined that the tree was healthy enough to donate some of its greens to her cause. Grasping one small branch in her hand, she withdrew her wand from her robes with the other, and cast a severing charm. She then waved her wand over the sprig of pine loose in her hand, and mumbled "Conservo Vitalis" before dropping the pine into the basket at her feet.
Ginny repeated this process for some time, moving among the trees that had given her shade and refuge from brothers seeking a target for their torments. She removed the odd bit of green here and there, and charmed it to retain its life's essence much longer than usual. When she dropped the last bit of green onto the top of the pile, she knelt down and scooped the basket up into her arms. With a last wave of her wand, the girl and her greens had Apparated home.
Fifteen minutes later, Ginny was sitting on the staircase in the foyer of her townhouse. Her first priority, upon returning home, was to brew a pot of tea; sure she'd had a spot with her mother, but that had been an hour ago, with the intervening time spent outside gathering greens. Her hands wrapped around the mug, soaking up its warmth, she could then consider the task at hand.
She brought the basket to the top of the stairs, picked up the sprig of pine that rested on top of the pile of greens, and applied a medium-strength Sticking Charm to it before pressing it onto the handrail. She didn't want to have to return fallen greens to their places on the rail; at the same time, she remembered the struggle with Sirius Black's mum's portrait, and was hesitant to make the charm too strong.
She continued in this pattern; taking a bit of green, charming it, and placing it on the handrail. About halfway down the staircase, she realized that the charm that ensured longer-living greens was guaranteed to leave a sticky, sappy mess all over the banister. Still, she told herself, better one cleaning job in January than having to go out to the Burrow to harvest more greens every week because the original batch couldn't hold its needles. When she reached the bottom of the stairway, she stopped to look up at her handiwork, and decided it was good.
She took one final peek into her basket, to verify that it was empty, and was started to discover one bit of green looking back up at her. She reached a hand and drew it out to examine it.
Green leaves with wicked points, and red berries. Holly? I don't remember taking any holly.
She ran a finger gently along the edge of one leaf, feeling its razor-thin edge and sharp points as she remembered what she'd learned in the classes of Professors Sprout and Snape. A winter plant associated with the cycle of death and renewal, often found in infinitesimal amounts in sleep-related potions. The presence of its natural defences made it a popular symbol of wards, of protection.
A slight shiver coursed up her spine as she remembered its significance. She was almost certain that she had not cut this bit of holly. It was possible, of course, that it had fallen into her basket accidentally, but she thought that as unlikely as her cutting it herself.
If something .. somebody? .. wanted her to take this piece of holly, who was she to argue? She performed one final Sticking Charm, and then tucked it into the cluster of pine at the end of the railing. Its red berries shone up at her from its nest of greens.
Wherever the holly had come from, it was a perfect fit.
Ginny picked up the now-empty basket and mug. She headed for her kitchen to put them away without another thought to the small mystery sitting at the bottom of her stairway.
"Tonks, a word."
Ginny had been sitting in the small classroom in the very basement of the Ministry of Magic, discussing the complexities of shielding against various types of hexes and other Dark spells with her fellow Auror Studies' first-years and their instructor for this segment. As Tonks had opened her mouth to address a question that Ginny had posed her, the classroom door swung open so violently it slammed against the wall, startling everyone in the room. Ginny turned her head to discover Mad-Eye Moody standing in the doorway, looking more severe than usual.
"Of course," Tonks replied. She stood up, and as she moved towards the door bumped one leg up against an errant desk, which in turn caused her to trip. Ginny exchanged knowing glances with her fellow future Aurors as Tonks picked herself up, brushed off her knees, and said "I'm fine," to no one in particular. She moved out into the hallway, closing the classroom door behind her.
Ginny had just finished wishing for one of her brothers' Extendable Ears when Tonks flung the door open in the same manner that Moody had done moments ago. "I'm afraid that class is over for the time being. We've an emergency situation brewing, and all of the full-fledged Aurors have been called away."
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Ginny asked quickly, but Moody waved his hand dismissively.
"Nothing that you should be exposed to yet, girl." Moody's tone was gruff. He knew exactly what sort of shenanigans the Weasley girl was capable of, and knew that in her half-trained state she was nothing more than a liability. "The best way for you to help is to stay here at the Ministry, and work on your studies."
Tonks nodded enthusiastically. "You can use my desk upstairs to catch up on your reading, since I don't know how long I'll be and someone else'll need the classroom soon. I'd take you back upstairs myself, but we're needed. I'll send word just as soon as I can." With that, Ginny and her classmates found themselves staring at an empty doorway.
"I guess that's that, then," Ginny said. She gathered her study materials into her arms, and waited for Christy Brocklehurst and Alexander Durden to collect their own items before abandoning their cozy classroom to head for the elevator.
Once in the lift, Ginny took a moment to smooth her robes. While red was decidedly not a Weasley-friendly colour, she got a particular thrill out of shrugging the red robes marking her as an employee of Auror Headquarters around her shoulders each morning as she readied for work. Of the forty students in her year at Hogwarts, only three had received letters from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
She was the most self-assured of her tiny group. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that she'd known all of their instructors - Moody, Tonks, and Shacklebolt - for years before she'd begun working at the Ministry. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that even if she hadn't been Head Girl, her marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts had easily been the highest of her year, far outstripping those of her classmates and almost reaching the standard set by Harry and Neville the previous year.
Perhaps it had everything to do with the fact that the moment she'd moved out of the Burrow, she had stopped thinking of herself as "the littlest Weasley" and started thinking of herself as her own person, and discovered that Ginny Weasley was someone that she liked a great deal.
"Level two," the lift said pleasantly, breaking Ginny out of her reverie. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services." The lift door slid open, and Ginny, followed by Brocklehurst, Durden, and several Interdepartmental Memos, made her way down the hall and through the heavy oak doors that opened up into the open-concept cubicle area that made up the majority of Level 2.
Even if Auror Headquarters hadn't occupied the space closest to the doors, Ginny would have seen them standing together - the tall blond boy and the medium-height sandy-brown-haired boy, looking disinterestedly over their classmate's shoulder.
The second-year Auror Studies students had been interrupted in the middle of their session on countercurses for mind-control hexes. Neville, finding the Auror Studies courses as intense and taxing as he'd imagine a day-long DA meeting in the Room of Requirement, had welcomed the break. Lisa Turpin, former Ravenclaw, had shrugged, planning to use the extra time to study.
Only Draco was seriously put off by the interruption. If he was expected to learn these types of skills, he needed to be able to practice them against a competent teacher. No matter how much Pansy liked Longbottom, Draco had seen too many melted cauldrons to be able to trust his abilities completely.
The three second-years, mildly curious as to the source of their class's disruption, had decided to do some basic information-gathering. Lisa had found a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet, and the two boys were reading over her shoulder. He heard the doors open with a muffled bang, and looked up, ready to channel his irritation into a mild rant.
It was the first-year class. Virginia Weasley led the two others, who'd also attended Hogwarts but who'd never distinguished themselves enough to warrant the notice of a Malfoy, through the heavy oak doors as though she were the leader of a small army.
He hadn't seen her in some time. The separation between the different classes of Auror Studies students was so great that he never caught a glimpse of her at the Ministry; the last time he'd been in the same room with her was when the Order had called a meeting at Grimmauld Place at the end of August, nearly four months ago.
Something was different about her.
It was nothing so drastic as a change in appearance; she still had the same Weasley hair, although it might have darkened a shade or two in the months that had distanced everyone from the summer sun. She wore it up now, as befitted a student of Auroring, but that wasn't enough of a change to warrant the curious confusion he was experiencing now.
Ginny glanced in their direction just as Neville said excitedly, "Oi, Ginny!" She graced Longbottom with a smile, then turned to her classmates, who made their way to his cousin's cubicle after exchanging a few quiet words. "Nev, Lisa .. Malfoy," she said in reply.
It hit him like a fourteen-stone Seeker on an international standard broom.
From somewhere, she'd gained self-assurance - the follower of the Golden Gryff Trio he'd met in Flourish and Blotts at twelve had turned into a woman that others followed without hesitation at twenty. Her posture, her comportment, and her expression radiated confidence and ease.
Unbidden, he remembered one of his last moments as a Hogwarts student. After an entire school year of being - if not friends, then at the very least civil to one another, he, Pansy, and Blaise had been privy to one of the last weekly confrontations between Ginny and her brother. He didn't even remember what had caused the row; he remembered was the way she'd looked as she'd defended her position, righteous indignation brightening her eyes and enlivening her facial features.
And he remembered thinking, as clearly as he remembered what he'd had for breakfast, that he'd been saved, saved from falling for her by her last name.
The trick only worked once, it appeared. Either that, or her last name, her blood-traitor father, the five generally over-protective brothers and especially the one he hated only slightly less than he hated the Boy Who Lived To Torment Him, was no longer sufficient to offset the unconscious charms of a pretty, smart, spirited young woman who'd offered him goodwill when nearly everyone else in the circle would have offered him a kick in the arse.
He was absolutely certain that all of this was easily readable on his face, and he considered how to escape to a secure location that would allow him to consider his position. Yes, yes, Slytherins went after what they wanted, but they also didn't compromise their position. And in the harsh light of unbidden realization, he felt extremely compromised.
He fought a sharp breath as Ginny moved to stand between himself and Longbottom and a sigh of relief at her next words, spoken quietly, without hesitation. "Do you know what the emergency situation is?"
She hadn't seen.
Longbottom lowered his voice to match Ginny's. "No, Shacklebolt didn't tell us a thing. All he did was tell us to come upstairs until he returned or sent word."
"We got approximately the same story from Tonks." The two former Housemates spent a couple of minutes speculating about the nature of the emergency before realizing that without any bit of amplifying information, any guess was equally likely, and that speculation was really an exercise in wasting time.
"So you were reviewing basic shielding charms?" Longbottom asked. "I'd be happy to help you practice, if you like."
Ginny smiled, and dropped one hand to touch Longbottom's forearm. "I appreciate the offer, Nev, but Tonks suggested we catch up on our reading. We should probably do that."
Draco heard the echo of his earlier thought in Ginny's voice, and he couldn't stop the barely-breathed chuckle that only someone next to him would hear. The someone next to him did hear, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before turning around and retreating to Tonks' desk, where the rest of the first-years waited.
After a minute or two, he risked a glance over to where she sat, only to discover that she regarded him with a surrepititious gaze full of appraisal.
Perhaps she had seen, after all.
The traditional fragrant greens and bright lights were what Ginny loved best about the holidays. She'd been so inspired by her success with her decoration of the hallway that she'd returned to the Burrow to collect more greens, and she'd strewn them, and a fair amount of fairy lights, liberally around her bedroom to create a haven where she could go to relax.
She might have gone a little overboard, however. The idea of enjoying her haven had encouraged the procurement of a bottle of elderflower wine, and she'd spent the Friday night before Christmas sequestered in her bedroom with that wine and her favourite romance novel. It hadn't been her intention to empty the bottle, and yet she'd knocked back glass after glass, unconsciously reveling in the warm, fuzzy haze the wine provided and the escapism that the novel encouraged.
She'd woken in a sweat, her arms and legs tangled in her bedsheets, the hair framing her face plastered to her forehead, and the fragments of a dream - pale hands brushing over the skin of her upper thighs and soft lips demanding and possessive against her own in the faint light - crowding any chance of rational thought out of her mind.
She struggled to sit up, her shakiness tangible evidence of the dream's effect upon her, and regarded the clock with frustration. It was only seven in the morning; normally she would go back to sleep for another couple of hours, seeing as she wasn't expected to meet Hermione in the Leaky Cauldron until noon, but she acknowledged the danger in letting her emotions indulge in dreams such as the one that awaited her just past the veil of unconsciousness.
She pushed her hair away from her forehead and swung her legs out of bed, concentrating on the feeling of the cold floor against her warm toes in an attempt to clear her head. If she went down to Diagon Alley early, she'd have time to do a little Christmas shopping before she met Hermione. Getting out of the house as soon as possible would be the best thing, she decided.
Ginny was standing outside Eeylop's Owl Emporium just after nine in the morning, when a hand brushed her arm, dragging her mind from its lengthy contemplation of buying treats for Hedwig and Pig. She turned, and was pleasantly surprised to discover Neville standing at her right elbow, his grandmother directly behind him.
"Good morning, Neville, Mrs. Longbottom," she said cheerily, treating Neville's redoubtable Gran to a personable smile.
"Miss Weasley. How nice to see you again." Mrs. Longbottom nodded in Ginny's direction, and turned to her grandson. "I have business to attend to at Gringott's this morning, but I'm sure you'd rather spend an hour with your friend than sitting in the bank with your grandmother."
"If I'm needed," Neville began, but his Gran waved the comment aside.
"It's not strictly necessary, and I know you've been so busy with your studies that you haven't had time to spend with your friends." Her face filled with obvious pride that Neville had followed in the footsteps of his parents. "I'll find you once I'm done arguing with the goblins." Without another word, she turned and pressed into the throng of people filling Diagon Alley, making her way towards Gringott's Wizarding Bank.
"I was just about to do a little bit of Christmas shopping before I meet Hermione at the Cauldron for lunch. Care to join me?"
Neville held out his arm in a gesture that made Ginny think of the Yule Ball in her third year. She rested her hand in the crook of his elbow as he said, "Lead on, fair lady."
A thought presented itself in Ginny's mind as the pair ducked into Quality Quidditch Supplies to consider gifts for Ron and Harry. It blossomed into a small plot as she and Neville visited the stationer's shop for a new set of quills for her father, and Flourish and Blotts, where she picked up several different books as potential gifts for Hermione before deciding at the register that Hermione spent enough time with books at the Ministry five days a week, and that she might not be happy to see another looking up from her giftwrapping.
Neville and Ginny were almost to the door when she hesitated for just a moment, her expressive eyes sweeping up the stairs and across the loft. He stopped to look at her, a glimmer of light concern in his eyes. The girl standing next to him wasn't the self-assured Ginny Weasley that had begun to assert herself in his seventh year.
Do it now, she told herself resolutely.
"Neville, can I ask you a question?"
He chuckled. "Of course you can."
"In confidence?"
That one phrase stopped him, and he regarded her with an analytical sense learned in three years of Defense Association meetings and honed by eighteen months' Auror training. Ginny wore a more serious expression than he'd seen on her face since the night that Sirius Black died; something was clearly bothering her.
"Let's go for a walk, Ginny." She took his arm once again and they left the warm confines of the bookstore; as they proceeded past Gringotts towards the quieter end of Diagon Alley, he addressed the last question she'd asked him, his voice modulated so that it reached only her ears.
"You've kept my own confidences, Ginny Weasley - Merlin, I hold you directly responsible for the continued success of my relationship with Pansy. I'd hope you'd know that I would certainly do the same for you." He patted the hand on his arm, and she looked up at him with an expression of gratitude.
"I just needed to make sure." She returned to her thoughts and didn't say another word, which started to worry her companion. What problem could be causing such distress? Had she another falling-out with her family? Was she struggling in Auror Studies? He hadn't heard that she was seeing anyone currently, but perhaps she was having boyfriend problems? Or Merlin forbid, she was ..
As Neville's mind took him to topics he'd rather not discuss with one of his closest female friends, she finally asked the question she'd been sitting on since meeting him in front of Eeylop's. "What's it like .. you know, working with him?"
For a moment, Neville was extremely confused. His first thought that by him she was referring to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the second-years' primary instructor, but the question would make no sense, as through Ginny's involvement in the Order of the Phoenix she would know Shacklebolt as well as anyone else.
And then it hit him. Him, Draco Malfoy.
He turned to look at Ginny, and her lowered eyes and slightly-blushed cheeks told him that his second guess was correct. "You're the only person I know that I can trust to answer that question," she continued. "And I need to know."
"Oh, Ginny." Neville's voice was light, and she raised her head to look at him for a long moment. She'd clearly been expecting some form of shock or derision; he covered her hand in a comforting manner and smiled. "How easily you forget who my girlfriend is," he said in way of reply to her expression. "Pansy and Malfoy have been friends since before he got his first real broom, for Merlin's sake." He stopped to glance in a store window.
"As to the information you seek, I can say that it hasn't been nearly as hard as I feared on my first day of Auror training. Imagine, if you will, me walking into the classroom and discovering him there! I was ready to turn right around and go back home, but thoughts of Gran's displeasure marched me right in there to take a seat."
Ginny chuckled; so encouraged, Neville continued. "I don't know the reason why, of course, us not being friends, but he really has matured since he left school. I haven't seen him act truly malicious since we started training - oh, don't get me wrong. He's still Malfoy, with the same arrogance, sarcasm, cynicism and smirk. And I think he still doesn't trust me to not make a huge fumbling mess of things."
She swallowed hard, remembering the glances she and Malfoy had exchanged the previous week at the Ministry.
"But the differences are noticeable. A couple of days ago, Shacklebolt had us working with the Department of Experimental Charms on one of the items they pulled out of that raid they went on that got so fouled up; of course we ended up working with Hermione. And do you know, I didn't hear him use that foul term for the Muggleborn that he was so fond of in school, not once. Of course, he was still incredibly irritated about having to work with her - "
"Well, she's still a know-it-all, and Gryff to boot," Ginny added impishly, and Neville grinned.
"Exactly." His face softened. "You like him, don't you?"
A fierce blush spread across her cheeks. "I'd catch hell from my family if I did."
"Well, they're not going to find out from me," he replied. "Ginny, you're old enough now to decide for yourself in all respects, no matter what Ron thinks."
She looked up to meet his eyes and saw Mrs. Longbottom striding gracefully toward them. "My errand took longer than expected," Neville's Gran explained, as Ginny checked her watch and saw that it was nearing eleven. "I trust you had a nice chat?"
"Indeed we did, Mrs. Longbottom," Ginny answered. She gave Neville's arm a slight squeeze before dropping her hand. "I need to find Hermione a Christmas gift before I meet her for lunch at noon."
"Well, then, I'll leave you to such important business." Neville brushed a brotherly kiss across her cheek. "Drop me an owl? Maybe we can finish our conversation over lunch this week."
Ginny nodded, and watched him walk back towards the Cauldron with his grandmother. She turned in the opposite direction, stopping to gaze in each storefront, her heart inexplicably lighter.
Lucius Malfoy regarded his wife with a look of tired irritation. "You know how much I loathe the usual holiday bustle, Cissa, and we were up late last night as well. Certainly you are able to visit the Parkinsons tonight without me?"
"Darling, this is not some idle social call, it is a holiday party." Narcissa treated her husband to a look of frustration. "We accepted this invitation ages ago.."
"You accepted the invitation ages ago.."
".. and to dishonour it would be shameful."
Lucius returned to his disinterested perusal of the morning's Daily Prophet without further discussion on the matter of holiday parties. He loved his wife with a passion normally reserved for hormone-infested seventeen-year-olds, but he'd made plans with Zabini the elder, and he cherished thoughts of a quiet evening in his library, sitting by the fire and discussing political strategies and intrigues, not floral decorations, the latest shameful loss of face and mothering techniques.
Narcissa scowled lightly at the back page of the paper facing her, just as footsteps in the hall announced the arrival of their son in Malfoy Manor's formal dining room. She turned to greet him, a sunny expression replacing the scowl. "Good morning, sweeting."
"Good morning, Mother," he replied, bending to kiss the cheek angled toward him. "Father."
"Draco," said the irritated voice behind the paper, by way of reply.
"Well, we're all in a wonderful mood this morning," Draco muttered, as he took his usual seat at the long table, exactly half-way between his mother and father. He didn't notice his mother's contemplative glance as he poured his tea and took a scone from the platter directly in front of him.
"What exciting plans have you for the day?" Narcissa asked her son, a smile that could almost be called predatory spreading across her face.
Draco took one last glance in the mirror, brushing the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead back into place. His black dress robes hung in elegant lines from strong shoulders, contrasting against his pale skin and white-blond hair. "Stunning, as always, dear," the mirror cooed at him.
"Flatterer," he mumbled automatically, his mind far away from the fact that he was speaking to an inanimate object. His conniving, wheedling mother had talked him into attending the Parkinsons' holiday party; normally, he wouldn't be so apprehensive about it, but it was likely that Pansy would have invited a number of her friends to the function to ensure tolerable company. Certainly she would have invited a certain redheaded friend, one that the thought of being in the same room with his parents, of all people, gave him a distinctly uneasy feeling.
He stared at himself for a moment in the mirror, wondering where that particular thought had come from, and then squared his shoulders before turning away from his reflection and leaving to meet his mother in the foyer. Whatever happened at this party, he was going to make sure it worked to his full advantage.
He was, after all, a Malfoy.
His mother was waiting for him, dressed in flowing light blue robes, one perfectly-manicured hand resting on the banister. She smiled up at him as he walked down the stairs.
"Ready to go, sweeting?" she asked. "I've already bid your father a pleasant evening, so we can leave whenever you're ready."
"I'm ready now," he replied. Narcissa pulled the Portkey she'd arranged for the evening from its box, and tucked her arm through her son's, transporting them directly from their own home to that of the Parkinsons.
They had barely arrived when they were pounced upon by their hostess. "Narcissa! Draco! How very lovely to see you," effused Melusine Parkinson, as she descended upon Narcissa, kissing the air in the general vicinity of her cheek. "Though I was expecting to see your charming husband tonight - I hope he's well?"
"He's fine, thank you," Narcissa replied. "Sadly, business required his presence elsewhere, so I found a charming young man to take his place as my date this evening." She patted her son's arm, and he gave her a small smile.
"Well, I'm sure he doesn't wish to listen to the prattle of old women all night. Draco, you'll find my daughter and some of your school friends in the sitting room. You remember where it is, of course?"
"Indeed. Thank you, Mrs Parkinson."
His mother slipped her hand from his arm, and smiled indulgently at him. "I'll be fine. Go see your friends, sweeting."
Draco walked through halls he'd been familiar with for several years, since he and Pansy had attended the same private day school for young children with magical abilities. Even with the meddling of both children's parents - who had images of Draco and Pansy at the altar burned into their minds at the moment of their first fight in the sandbox - Draco and Pansy had become fast friends.
"Draco!" Pansy noticed the moment he walked into the sitting room, and treated him to a grand smile. The boy she was sitting with stood and turned to him, a grin on his own face.
"Malfoy. Looks like you got drawn into mother-escort duty too," Blaise Zabini drawled. "Your father and mine are probably ensconced with a fifth of something devastating, and thanking their good fortune that their wives were so easily pawned off on their sons."
"No doubt, Zabini," Draco replied, as he looked around the room. Next to Zabini's place on the sofa sat Millicent Bulstrode, who looked less than spectacular in a dress that didn't suit her, but whose face was radiant as she and Zabini exchanged glances filled with .. well. When the hell had that happened?
Pushing uncomfortable thoughts of attachments out of his mind, he turned to look about the rest of the room. Across from Blaise and Millicent sat Emma Dobbs and Celia Warrington, both of whom had just returned home on hols from Hogwarts. Since Draco, Pansy and Zabini's own escape from that beloved institution, both Emma and Celia had grown into polished young women who seemed perfectly happy to sip tea and chat on Mrs Parkinson's settee.
Pansy patted the cushion next to her on the sofa. "Join us, Draco," she invited. "We're contemplating the next rise of the Dark."
"Oh are you, now?" he replied, his tone slightly amused as he arranged his robes before sinking elegantly into the cushions. Pansy, as quick as she'd proven herself in her final year of school (three NEWT qualifications - Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions - on top of the seven OWLs she'd earned in fifth year), didn't normally speak of Wizarding politics in any company, much less in a semi-public, polite setting.
"Not really," Zabini admitted. "We're just trying to look busy so those old vultures don't descend on us. They're in a matchmaking mood tonight."
Draco narrowed his eyes at Pansy, slightly alarmed. It all made sense now - his mother's insistence that he attend this party, finding himself in the cozy sitting room he remembered, in the company of four eligible young women and the young man no one had expected to attend.
It was one thing to pretend to listen to your mother's incessant comments about finding a nice girl to date when you weren't incredibly particular about the beautiful pureblood hanging from your arm. It was an entirely different matter when you had your own ideas of whom you'd like to date, and they didn't include any of the young women your mother would choose from the crowds of girls at a debutante ball.
He thought it strange that the girl next to him didn't look panicked at all. Pansy had been almost as vehemently opposed to the idea of their marriage as he had, a thought which had given him a measure of moral support when his mother would get some flowery notions in her head. Yet she sat beside him now, calm, collected, entirely too serene.
Pansy saw the question in his eyes, and gave him the smirk that she'd bloody stolen from him as a seven-year-old. "I'm not worrying," she informed him, "because Mother knows about Neville, and I threatened to elope with him and live as a Muggle if she tried to force a man of her choosing down my throat."
"Inspired," Draco murmured. "She knows about Longbottom?"
Pansy gave him a little grin. "They've not met, yet, but I had to tell Mother because I've been invited into the company of Neville's distinctly frightening grandmother for dinner on Christmas. I figured that if I survived dinner with Mrs. Longbottom, then we could contemplate him meeting my parents."
The young people sat in the sitting room for nearly three hours. Pansy occasionally sent gently pointed comments in Draco's direction, attempting to discern the cause of the look he'd given her when Blaise had mentioned matchmaking; Draco would brush them artfully aside without providing the tiniest clue. In between exchanges, the Hogwarts graduates pressed their younger friends for news about their alma mater - the goings-on in Slytherin House, if Dumbledore was as preferential to the Gryffs as ever, who held the Quidditch Cup.
Every time an adult would have cause to pass by the entry to the sitting room, their ears would be greeted by happy chatter or laughter and they'd smile, unaware of the true dynamics of the group sitting by the fire.
It wasn't until Emma's mother came to collect her daughter that the group realized how late the hour had grown. Knowing that his mother could easily sit with her cronies until one in the morning, Draco resolved to extract her at the earliest possible opportunity. Pansy, sensing this, excused herself to accompany him to the solarium, where her parents and their friends were holding court.
As soon as they were sufficiently distanced from the sitting room, Pansy pounced. "So you're not going to tell me what that look was about, are you?"
"Indeed not. You want someone to extort secrets from, go to Longbottom." His tone was sharp, but the smirk on his face was softer than the cutting version he reserved for most Gryffindors.
"Alas, Neville has no more secrets for me to extort, I've learned them all," she replied playfully.
"What, and you haven't dropped him yet?"
"Sick-making as it might be, I seem to have grown fond of him."
"Pansy Parkinson, soft on a Gryffindor. You should be removed from the rolls of Slytherin House, I swear."
At this remark, Pansy put one hand on Draco's arm, stopping his forward movement. "Oh, speaking of Gryffindors.."
He froze the neutral expression on his face. "Yes?"
"I got an owl from Ginny the other day, inviting me over to her place on Christmas Eve. I spoke with Blaise when he arrived this evening, and he's going to come with me. You should join us."
"And why would I wish to do that?" His voice was quiet.
"Oh, come now. She was my school friend, and our Potions partner seventh year. Certainly you can put your dislike for Gryffindors aside for a couple of hours on Christmas, for Merlin's sake, and enjoy some polite conversation."
This wasn't the first he'd heard of Miss Ginny Weasley's Christmas Eve invitation. He'd seen the carefully-scripted parchment tacked up on the bulletin board at Auror Headquarters, and wondered how he might attend without drawing undue attention to himself. Pansy had just given him that means, gift-wrapped and dropped in his lap.
Not that he'd show any of it, not with her already suspicious of the look he'd been unable to hide earlier.
He smirked. "Just for you, Pans, I'll do it."
"So. Was your evening an unqualified success, beloved?"
Upon their return to the Manor, Draco had proceeded directly to his own suite, to contemplate the concerns of a boy of nineteen. Narcissa had found her husband in his library reading, his long white-blond hair untied and falling softly about his face. He'd looked up as she entered the room, and inquired about her evening, the smirk on his face distinctly seductive.
A versatile expression, that Malfoy smirk.
"Decidedly. I had a marvelous time catching up with Melusine, and at the very end of the evening I encountered our son having what appeared to be a clandestine conversation with her daughter." Narcissa rested upon the arm of Lucius' chair, and idly brushed his hair away from his face.
His expression turned predatory for the briefest of moments, before he reached up to pull his wife into his lap. There would be time to contemplate further his son's marriage to the Parkinson girl .. tomorrow.