Ginny was still staring at the dregs of her tea when a sharp rap sounded on her window pane. She looked up to see a sleek black owl with uncanny yellow eyes staring at her impatiently through the glass, hammering away on the pane with an annoyed expression when she didn't immediately make to open it. She pushed her way through her unorganized flat and opened the window. The bird thrust a crisp white letter at her, and resumed his staring in stony silence.
She raised her eyebrows at it, but turned back to the letter. It was thick paper- the kind one could only find when a pretty penny was to be spent. Her name was written with ink that shimmered gold so brightly that she had to turn it directly into the sunlight to read it properly.
Miss Ginevra Weasley, it read, and her eyebrows rose again. No one but the Ministry ever called her Ginevra; it was too formal, too stiff sounding. No one had called her Ginevra since she was just starting at school and the other students were just learning each other's names.
She tore open the envelope and pulled out a postcard sized sheet of embossed paper. The ink, like the envelope, was gold, and the glimmer made it hard to read. She struggled for a moment to figure out what it was saying, and once she had figured it out, struggled to understand why on earth it had been addressed to her, of all people.
You are cordially invited
To Malfoy Manor's
479th annual Gala
At 7 O'clock, on the Twenty Seventh of June
Black Tie
Latecomers will be turned away
By invitation only, no guests
Please bring this note to the door.
She stared at the invitation for a long while before coming to the conclusion that the issuer of the note was deficient in some of the more necessary mental faculties. Firstly, the Twenty Seventh of June was today; Secondly, by rote, at least a months' notice was usually the norm with such an event, with the exception being less rather than more; Thirdly, it was no small secret that she had been the girlfriend of Harry Potter, and she had made her allegiances quite clear during the war. That she would be invited to a Gala hosted by one of the most illustrious former Death Eaters was preposterous, even though the Malfoy family had recanted some time before the final battle and had been vocal in their opposition of Voldemort in the end. The coldness between the Malfoy family and the Order remained strong and noticeable, and it was widely thought that their purpose in changing sides was that they had seen the futility of staying with the losing side, no more. Personal gain. Very Slytherin.
Even should their political differences be disregarded, there was still the matter of personal dissidence to be considered. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had been marked enemies in their youth, and that she was invited to Draco Malfoy's family Gala was something to be considered from a distance, held at arms length for the time being. Unfortunately, Malfoy had not given her much time to weigh her options with any thoroughness.
Her war experience sat wedged firmly in the back of her mind, screaming with great tenacity that going would most definitely be a mistake. But, truly, the fore of her thoughts were coyly playing with the idea of attending, and from her current vantage point, the outcome didn't look too horrible. Certainly, there would be some awkwardness, slipping into the den of the Death Eaters, or former den, as it was, but she had never been one to back down from a challenge.
And, her subconscious put in mischievously, did she not just make the decision to throw away her past habits and start anew these ten minutes ago? She felt her face break into a smile.
It would be adventurous. It would be completely out of character. It would be- fun? Maybe?
She glanced quickly at the clock hanging above her parlor door. Three thirty. She had just enough time to squeeze into Madam Malkin's and find something on short notice, if she hurried.
She scraped her hair into a scruffy pony tail high on her head and grabbed the better of her three coats, and leapt lightly into the floo. She took more powder than she had intended to, and her trip was much faster and entirely dirtier than was absolutely necessary, and she stumbled into the entryway of the shop covered in a thick layer of soot and ash, with tendrils of her hair floating messily around her face. A few of the more snooty patrons snickered behind their hands at her less than statuesque entrance, but their snark soon dissipated when she made her way to the back of the store with her head held high.
At the back of Madam Malkin's store was where the great designers were kept, and where patrons consisted of the richest of the pureblood nobility, the high society darlings, and those with a very important event to dress for. The gowns in the back of the store were expensive and exquisite, and one had to have a fair bit of coin jangling in their purse to even consider heading in that direction.
Ginny had a good deal of extra money of her own waiting to be spent due to some extra credit jobs she had taken on during the summer for her editor, who had been short staffed at the time. It never hurt to splurge a little, she decided as she climbed the ornate stairs that led to the upper level.
The upstairs was obviously catered to the rich. No expense had been spared in the matter of patron comfort. It was a single room, with two great bay windows on each wall, each separated by a thick slab of marble. The windows overlooked London, both muggle and magical, and sun shone directly from one side of the room to the other in the warm afternoon. Plush chairs were strewn around the place, and in the center was a raised platform, where Ginny assumed the fittings took place.
Beside each chair stood an ornate silver platter, stocked with crystal decanters and glasses, and fine china saucers and tea cups. Ginny instantly felt out of place, her upbringing leading her to prefer rugged, mismatched styling and homely accents, complete with signs of loving use in each crack and chip. She ignored her dislike and called out hesitantly, realizing that the closer the sun came back to the horizon, the less time she had to prepare herself.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice sure despite her feelings of awkwardness. Her mother would probably be fussing over each and every piece of china by now, had she been here, her love of all things fancy overriding any sort of compunction to do with societal rules of behavior. Ginny quirked a smile at that thought, and felt suddenly much better.
Almost instantly an older looking woman appeared, having come through one of the windows, fussing with a tape measure and a heavy looking pencil. A tall, willowy blonde woman trailed behind her, struggling with a large clipboard and a quill a good three times the length of a normal one.
"How can we help you, Miss..." her voice, while not being outright demeaning, definitely acknowledged that Ginny was no one of stature or social standing.
"Weasley." Ginny said proudly, and the older woman's eyes widened a tiny bit, but she showed no other sign of surprise. A Weasley hadn't set foot in Madam Malkin's, except for the second hand rack, for over twenty years. Ginny ignored this. "I need an evening gown or two." The woman nodded and clapped her hands twice. Instantly, half of the huge windows flipped themselves over to reveal monstrous closets, each closet holding dresses from a different section of the color wheel.
She swallowed heavily, not entirely sure what she was getting herself into. She had never spent more than ten galleons on clothes at any one time in her entire life.
"On the podium please," the willowy one said, her voice svelte an cultured. Ginny had hardly set foot on the platform when suddenly and inexplicably, she found herself wearing only her underthings. She gasped with the shock of the cool indoor air hitting her skin, but hid it well.
They began to examine her. "Lovely figure," the elder one announced, and the willowy one started to take notes in her clipboard, flipping to a new page every minute or so, scribbling furiously. The elder one continued to speak, as if muttering to herself. "Red hair, lovely, lovely, but of course that rules out yellow. Pale, wonderful complexion, beautiful tone... Brown eyes, freckles, no brown fabric then, no that would only mute the color... Curves, oh my, what lovely curves...." She went on for a good ten minutes. Ginny managed to take it all in stride until the woman saw fit to mention her 'ample bosom', and her 'shapely bum', at which she choked on her breath and earned herself a dubious look from the willowy woman, who obviously intended to communicate that she very much doubted Ginny's ability to become a lady. The elder didn't notice, simply mentioning to Ginny that 'tight waisted dresses' were definitely 'her thing'.
"Alright dear, bring out the blues and the green's first, then the reds and the blacks. Only darker shades though, if you please." Willow nodded and pointed a slender finger towards a far closet. Out of nowhere, Ginny found herself already slipped into a hideous concoction of blue and green feathers and ruffles. She looked like a peacock. Her facial expression must have conveyed her displeasure, because in another second, the peacock was replaced with a bluebird. On it went; she would gag or shake her head vigorously and then she would find herself in a different dress. They made their way through the entire color wheel, and until they made it to the grays and blacks, they got absolutely nowhere.
But then, two in a row where perfect. A grey dress and a black dress. In the end, Ginny bought both. The shop ladies charmed them to fit her perfectly, and she was on her way.
.
Back at her flat, she decided to wear the black one to the Malfoy Gala. She felt dark and mysterious, and entirely unlike herself, which was what she was aiming for. It was shockingly risqué and showed a great deal of skin, and Ginny almost backpedalled when she saw how different she looked against the backdrop of her own home. In the store it was easy to become someone else and allow her own personality to fade away, but surrounded by her pictures and her personal things, it was sharply contrasted. But she forged on ahead.
The dress was stunning in its simplicity. It had no embellishments, no flare, and no great bedazzlements. It was backless, with the fabric starting just over her 'shapely bum' and draping over her front; all that held it to her chest was two long silver chains forming an 'X' over her back, connecting the shoulder straps to the bottom. The skirt was just as racy, with a slit coming up to her thigh, rippling open when she walked revealing a scarlet colored inner layer.
She had no idea what to do with her hair, so she pulled it into a low pony tail just below her ear, so that the long strands fell over her shoulder to the side of the neckline.
Dark mascara and eyeliner, and she was ready; a femme fatale in the making. She smiled to her reflection, and fairly gaped at herself. She was hardly recognizable. Her mother would have kittens.
At precisely 6:59:43, Ginny stood with her invitation in hand in her small living room, prepared to Apparate. At exactly 6:59:59, she spun, and appeared in the massive foyer of Malfoy Manor at the same instant as a hundred other guests arrived under the great chime of a grandfather clock.
A guard came around to each guest, and after certifying that each invitation was real, he handed each person a small silver ring to signify that they were, indeed, guests, as opposed to extremely well dressed staff. Ginny looked down at her small ring with her lips quirked. If she remembered Malfoy properly, the silver was real, but would disappear after the evening was over. Malfoy's had never been ones for gift giving, unless the recipients were the Ministry, and the outcome was leniency in some format or another. She shook her head and followed the rest of the crowd into the ballroom.
***
Draco looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a God. His white blonde hair fell in delectable waves around his ears and just over the edge of his collar and his black tuxedo fit him perfectly. He looked exactly as a twenty four year old man should: virile and strong and sexy.
He looked down at the small, perfect flower in his hand. He had charmed it to retain the pretty spots of dew on the petals, and it would never die, so long as it was kept near a window somewhere. He gently closed his fingers over it, careful not to crush the petals. The stem extended through his fingers.
He looked up to the sound of an opening door. Blaise waltzed into the room, a leggy brunette on his arm and a goofy smile plastered to his face. Draco fought the urge to curse under his breath. This was his night to be a gentleman; such behavior would never do.
"Yes?" he asked in his most authoritative tone.
"Ready? Weasley is here." The brunette looked at Blaise with confusion. Weasley?
Draco looked back at his reflection and before his eyes his countenance grew sultrier, his mouth a little bit more pouty- in a manly way.
Ginny Weasley wouldn't know what hit her.
***
The ballroom was crowded with the rich and famous. She recognized most, if not all, or the faces from at least one picture or another in the Daily Prophet society section. The nobility were in full attendance, as were the flaky society princesses. She straightened her spine and leveled her shoulders, aware that her back muscles were well formed and placed to advantage in this dress. People parted for her as if she were one of them. It was like a power rush.
She soon noticed however, that she stuck out to a high degree. Where every other woman in the place wore bright colors, mostly pastels, to celebrate the long awaited arrival of summer, she looked like a dark, sultry sorceress. She was mollified, though, when she noticed a few of the men around her start to gape at her, and in one instance, almost drool.
Easily she was showing the most skin. Easily she was the least conservative. But then, she was never going to fit in anyways, her mind reminded her, so why bother? She was sexy. She could feel that. She hadn't felt so comfortable with herself in a long time. She was going to enjoy it. She smiled, and someone to her left somewhere gasped. Some whispered behind their hands.
She was an unknown quantity to them; probably the only new blood for years. She headed to the bar, and was hastily served a cold firewhisky, which she popped open like an old hand. The barman winked at her.
Ginny turned to walk around some more, eager to move away from the glares fastened on her from this corner.
She stepped right into the firm, hard body of a man a good foot taller than her.
"Oh! I'm so sorry- I-"
"Miss Weasley," the man said, in a deep baritone, and she looked up to see the sparkling grey eyes of her host, Draco Malfoy.
"Mr. Malfoy," she gaped, "I apologize, I didn't see you."
"Not at all, Miss Weasley." he held out his hand palm upwards, and hesitantly, she placed hers into it. It was warm, but as he raised her hand to his lips to brush a light kiss across her knuckles, she felt the most shocking chill shoot through her body, coming from somewhere in her belly.
He turned her hand over, and brought out his other hand, brushing his fingers from the center of her palm as he placed something there. She looked with avid fascination as he unveiled a dainty little daisy, perfectly formed, and pure white with a great yellow sun blinking merrily at her from the center. She couldn't help but smile; daisies were her favorite.
"A beautiful flower," he said, his voice sending thrills through their connected hands to her heart, which she was sure would fail quite shortly, "for a beautiful woman."
"Thank you," she blushed.
He took the flower from her hand, and with her permission, wove it into her hair behind her ear, fastening it there with a charm. He smiled at her, his grey eyes crinkling.
"Dance with me," he said, and without waiting for her reply, dragged her to the floor.
She liked him already.
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