Ginny twisted in front of the mirror, checking her profile, her butt, her cleavage. She didn't want to look unattractive, and she certainly didn't want to look sexless. What she thought would make her look unapproachable (aloof, even) made her look like a goddamn spinster. Even her normal date attire appeared unsatisfactory.

She'd tried on nearly every item of her wardrobe, and in turn discarded each in a heap on her bed. Her closet was looking rather barren at this juncture. A flick of her wand scrunched the empty hangars to one side and brought the final item into view.

"Accio dress," she said after a sigh, even though she knew it was wrong. She sucked in a breath to zip it up and stared at her reflection.

It was a black dress- almost indecently short, clinging like a second skin, and strapless. It also enhanced what little bust she had.

All in all, she concluded with a spin, she looked fantastic.

"He deserves a little torture," she said aloud with a grin, and spun around on her way to the bathroom.

She used a small potion to flip the ends of her hair out, and began applying makeup. She was humming under her breath, slightly off key.

"Ginny? Are you home?"

Ginny dropped her eyeliner and coughed. "In the bathroom, Hermione," she called back sheepishly, recovering the pencil.

Hermione's bewildered visage appeared in the doorway shortly after. "Do you have a date?"

"Mmhmm. At seven. What brings you by?"

"You've read the papers. What do you think I'm here about?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

"Touché." The noises of her cosmetic daubing became painfully loud while she figured out what to say. Did she really want to go through the entire tale again? Would she even believe her? She finally settled on, "Only about ten percent of it is true."

"But you are going out with him tonight." The him was venomous.

"Did I say that? I did not say that," she said irritably, nearly jabbing herself in the eye with her lash lengthener. "I could be going out with Harry."

"Not dressed like that, you aren't," Hermione scoffed. "You don't try to impress Harry anymore. No matter what you do, he still treats you like dirt."

"That makes me feel so much better."

The sad part was that it was true. That Harry treated her like crap, not that she felt better. But she didn't want it to be so plain to everyone else the state of their affairs.

Ugh, bad pun. She blinked and wiped away some extraneous black flecks.

"Well, he does."

Why could she not drop it? "Fine, maybe I'm going with-" She drew a blank. "Uh, that guy down the block? The butcher?"

"Gordon," Hermione supplied, "and I highly doubt it since you have difficulty recalling his name."

"Good point." She finished up her lips and turned. "What do you think?"

"About what you're doing? About what he's doing? Or about how you look?"

"Take your pick."

"I think you're acting out because Harry just expects you to drop your life and be with him. I think Malfoy's rebelling against his family. And I think you're enough to be a hazard to those with cardiovascular disease."

"I'll take the last one, then, and be off." Ginny gave her a quick hug on her way out. "I'll come over tomorrow, tell you all about it?"

"That would be nice," the other acknowledged.

"Wish me luck?"

"Answer me something first."

Warily Ginny cocked her head. "Shoot."

Hermione took a deep breath and relaxed her posture. "Was it a good kiss?"

The memories flooded back- his tongue, her tongue, bodies molded together, inhaling his scent. Wet... hot... passion.

"Um," was all she managed.

"I'll wish you that luck, then," Hermione sighed. "You're going to need it."

Before Ginny blushed too deep, she apparated.

You'll go crazy if you watch the door. So he observed the people around him. The couple at the next table was completely engrossed in each other. Like there were words being spoken- serious, important words about the fate of the universe or some similarly weighty topic. Except their lips weren't moving, but one could almost see the communication all the same.

Romantic idiots.

Seven-oh-two.

Maybe she would stand him up. A childish, immature stunt to be sure, but it wasn't as if their family feud was mature to begin with. Money, class, and dispositions differences certainly ranked on the infantile scale. It was stupid- but it was hard to break out of stupid habits.

7:03 p.m.- Greenwich Mean Time. Virginia Weasley walked in, and he finally understood the phrase "my heart stopped."

She sauntered over, doing some sort of swish with her hips. Her hair was down, curled out just slightly. Her eyes were framed by subtle hues and that brown was twinkling. All that would have been enough, but Christ, that dress.

That her legs were incredible should not have been a shock- but since when did freckled shoulders become sexy? He found himself tensing up with each step she took nearer.

Yes, his heart had definitely stopped. After all, how on earth could it pump blood throughout his body when all of it was concentrated in his pants?

"Evening, Malfoy," she said, and ran her hands down her backside as she sat down.

She couldn't dress like that and still mean to remain on a last-name basis. "You could call me Draco," he suggested, flashing a grin.

She didn't seem to be affected by his charm. "I could."

He tried engaging her in conversations about her writing, about politics, about anything he could think of. But his responses were strained. It was sapping his energy to keep himself hidden under the table- and doubly so to find and maintain a safe subject line. Something that didn't remind him of sex. It was hard- pun goddamn definitely not intended.

She just sat there looking amused.

"Are you ready to order?" came a small, high voice.

She was, because apparently she wasn't having any problem concentrating. The waiter dutifully took her order and turned to him. "I'm guessing not the usual, sir?"

Nothing about tonight was normal. "I'll take some Corinthian Wabash."

"Fried or baked?"

"Fried."

Ginny looked surprised. "That's my brother Bill's favorite."

"Excellent choice, sir," the waiter said, and scurried off.

At the mention of her family, her face had softened considerably. Unconsciously he followed up on the thread to exploit the change. "Which one is Bill?"

"Oldest- a curse breaker for Gringotts in Egypt," she said. "He's kind of turned into a yuppie, though."

"Yuppie?"

"Young urban professional- like.... well, nevermind."

The opening she'd given was slipping away. "How has your family taken the articles?"

"You first," she replied instantly.

"My mother called it slander and threatened to sue the press."

"My mother practically called me a slut and a liar. My brothers have yet to descend upon me with their overbearing presence, but Harry sure gave be a dose of it already." A short bitter laugh accompanied this statement.

It astounded him how she could let out such personal information. How her face could show such emotion.

A bit of a scowl crossed his face; he didn't particularly care for the way she'd mentioned Potter's name. "So, what are you to him?"

"Nothing," she said sharply, quickly. Too quickly. "A friend." After that amendment, she looked utterly exasperated and repeated, "Nothing."

That tune sounded familiar. "Casual sex?" he surmised.

Her irritation said it all. "I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."

"I can't believe you're foolish enough to put up with it- or what an ass he is."

"I think you're just saying that because you hate him."

"And what, you don't think he's an ass?"

It fell silent as she appeared to be carefully choosing her words.

"Maybe I do, sometimes. But he's practically family."

And now it was awkward. You could cut the tension with a poorly sharpened knife, and he felt out of his element and it was terrible. Desperately he looked around. There must be someone he could pay to fix things. He didn't know what to do.

Subject change, subject change. Flattery?

"Have I mentioned you look stunning?"

It was unexpected. She looked down and blushed.

He dropped his voice down to a silky tone. "May I ask if you're wearing anything underneath?"

"You may if you want to get punched in the face," she replied sweetly.

Then she laughed, and he laughed, and it was okay.

Their dialogue was that of debate and light bickering. It felt so good to have someone to argue with- not just to yell at. "You're wrong," she'd said, and how long had it been since he'd heard that? It wasn't so much anger that fueled her response- it was passion. Passion for her views on anything- from her brother's reports on cauldron thickness to pre-Hogwarts curriculum.

Not just "Yes, Draco," or "This would be best for you, Draco."

Or "That's just the way it is, Draco."

Or "It's the way it's always been."

No real reason. No defense. When it came right down to it, Malfoys were terrified of change.

"Malfoy!"

His head snapped up to meet the glare of two brown eyes. "Hmm?"

"The food's here."

What on earth...

She leaned across the table (giving him a very nice view) and placed his fork and knife in his respective hands. When he just stared back at her, she heaved a giant sigh.

"Slice off a piece." She demonstrated with her hands over his, guiding, which had to be difficult as the movements were all backwards.

"Open mouth." Obligingly he let her pull his chin down.

"Insert," she said a little breathily, sliding the fork inside his mouth. As she tapped his chin up, he felt the utensil ease out from his lips. "Chew, and swallow."

He obeyed, corners of his mouth curving up.

She withdrew back to her seat, removing her hands from his. "Now you try."

He sliced off another piece and shook his head, laughing under his breath.

Why did everything seem more interesting with her around?

No expectations. Sometime in the evening, their names ceased to be more than what they were. She stopped thinking of him as a Malfoy and rather just as a person who bore the name. Bantering back and forth over a myriad of topics for so long, it was difficult to see the word enemy tattooed on his forehead.

"You've got to be cold in that thing."

She was startled. Blocks of only the harmony of the cicadas, and suddenly he spoke. She grinned and swatted his arm. "Hush, you'll ruin the mood."

"It's just that has got to be the smallest garment I've ever seen."

"You don't appreciate my fashion choices?" Not really pouty, more mischievous. She hated sulky girls.

Draco ran his eyes suggestively down her frame. "Did I say that?"

In step, in perfect rhythm, turning the corners. What a great night, she mused silently, admiring how in sync they were.

But every night had to end. "I should be heading home."

"You could invite me to your flat," he said in an offhand manner.

"I could," she allowed," but I don't think I will."

He let out a resigned sigh.

"You'll clear up the things with the media?"

"Being taken care of as we speak."

"Thank you." She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

He just stood there.

"The polite response is generally 'you're welcome,'" she said wryly.

"Ah. You're... welcome." He made it almost sound distasteful.

She laughed, murmured a goodnight, and apparated.

She could smell a fire burning, the lights were on, and her open closet door revealed an extra coat. She sniffed the sleeves- subtle sandalwood.

Percy.

"Anyone here?" she called out, although it was really only a formality. She knew very well that one or more of her brothers were lurking about.

She moved into the living room and saw two red-haired heads leaning back on the sofa and one more in the kitchen.

"Uh," grunted either Fred or George- it was too far away to tell.

"Uh," echoed the other.

"Please don't tell me you went out in public in that outfit," Percy said, expression strained.

"Hello to you, too," she said lightly. "So who broke in?"

"Me," said one of the twins even as the other said, "Fred."

"I took the liberty of manufacturing a few groceries," Percy said, waving at the a colorful display of goods on her counters, "as your cupboards and cabinets were disgracefully empty. Would you like some dinner?"

"I've already eaten, thanks."

"She's already eaten," Fred mumbled, suspicion evident in his voice.

"She's already eaten," George agreed.

"Oh, stop it," she said irritably. "Yes, I know what's in the papers. No, it's not that serious. Yes, I was just out with Draco."

"'Draco'?" Fred repeated.

"That's really rather familiar of you, Ginny," said the eldest present disapprovingly. "I can't say I endorse this relationship."

"It's nothing to be worried about."

"Ginny, he's a Malfoy," George said fiercely.

"Do you not remember your first year at Hogwarts?" Fred demanded.

She planted her hands on her hips and glared. "Being blamed for his father's activities is like me being blamed for your waywardness."

"Dark arts is quite a bit more serious than mischief, Ginny," Percy said sternly.

The twins nodded violently.

"Look, let's just forget it. I'm not going to be seeing him again, there should be no reminders in the Daily Prophet. I'm going to go change into pajamas- can we all be civil by the time I'm back?"

"We'll work on it," George said, but his face did not promise much.

Once she had changed and was infinitely more comfortable, she walked back out into the living room. Her brothers still seemed cross. Faces set in flint, the whole lot of them.

"That's it," she announced, fed up. "Either you make nice or you leave. I don't need to deal with you."

"Fine," George and Fred snapped in unison, jumping up from the couch and heading for the door.

"Boys!" Percy exclaimed, scandalized. "I made pie."

"Accio pie," George growled over his shoulder, catching the whizzing pastry.

"Oh, no, you don't. I worked very hard on that! Accio pie!"

And so it went, back and forth, several times, until Ginny stepped in between the two and yelled, "Enough!"

Sure enough, the pie stopped-

As it hit her in the face.

Blueberry filling in her mouth, in her eyes, up her nose. The tin slowly slid to the ground.

Fred looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Oh, dear," Percy said, fumbling across the room. He mumbled a quick scouring charm, cleaning up her face and her carpet. "I'm terribly sorry, Ginny."

"I'm sorry about your pie," she said- bearing remarkably well under the circumstances, she thought. "I'm sure it was fantastic."

"I've got another one on the counter," he said, looking perhaps like he might cry, "although I know you don't like pumpkin half as well as blueberry."

Ginny patted him on the shoulder. "At the moment I feel much more amenable to pumpkin."

"Dammit, I love pumpkin pie," Fred muttered to George. "Can we stay?"

George shook his head, but Fred's eyes implored.

"Please..."

George sighed. "Fine, fine. 'Let them eat pie.'"

"Actually, I think it's 'Let them eat cake,' George," she interjected helpfully.

"Well, we haven't got cake, have we?" he snapped.

"Actually," Percy said, "I've got some carrot cake in the oven."

"So we can all be happy," Ginny said, although she wasn't really talking about the cake anymore. Her eyes were screaming Behave yourselves. "Alright?"

"Alright," George said grudgingly.

"Don't look at me," Fred said, placing his hands up in the air. "I just wanted some pie." And he scooted off into the kitchen.

"Ginny, I just want you to know what you're getting into," George said in a low, quiet tone.

"I did, and I'm not into it anymore. It's done, over, finished."

"Things like this don't just wrap up like that," he said. "You watch yourself."

"I will, George," she said, sighing.

She knew they were just concerned. That they loved her and wanted her to be safe. But she was old enough to take care of herself. She didn't need to be babied, coddled. She could make her own decisions and live her own life.

Percy's voice rent through the air, pitched several octaves higher than usual. "Good God, Fred. Utensils! Get your hands out of there!"

"I was just-"

Why can my life not be normal? she wondered, and focused her attentions on averting a total crisis.

"Sir?"

His valet stood with his coat, not making a move towards the closet. This is not the way it works, Draco thought. You take my coat, go hang it up. There is not much to be confused about here.

"What?" he said, tired. Malfoy Manor just seemed so suffocating at the moment.

"It's your father. He hasn't been home yet, and I was-"

"He'll be back, don't worry," Draco said. "He always comes back."

"I just thought I'd let you know, sir," said the valet, and put away his jacket.

"It's been noted," he said, "it's just not notable."

"As you say, sir."

He barely registered the servant's exit. I hate this house. I have got to get out of this house.

But he was tired, too tired to make the effort. So he climbed the stairs and collapsed on his bed, not even bothering to undress.