3. Whitecastle

With the help of Blaise and house-elves appointed by Narcissa Malfoy, Ginny had no difficulty finding her way into the Malfoys' property of Whitecastle. Though Blaise had initially wanted Ginny to emerge from a humongous cake, Mrs. Malfoy had found that inelegant and refused flatly. Neither she nor her husband would be present at the celebration, but she did not want an event of such poor taste to take place, despite their absence. Ginny had exchanged a few owls with her, after which they had come to an agreement regarding the specifics of the event.

Whitecastle Manor was very much unlike what Ginny had expected, based on Ron's description of Malfoy Manor. No antique furniture could be found here, no impressive Persian rugs or opera-worthy chandeliers, no stuffy cornices or ostentatious bibelots. Though the ceilings were high and the windows wide in a way distinctly reminiscent of Versailles' most superb corridors, the columns that supported the simple ceilings were white and devoid of ornaments. Modern furniture of neutral tones allied elegance and sobriety, so that even the bronze busts scattered across the rooms added sophistication to the modern décor.

Ginny was to wait in a room that had been prepared for that use. Several books and magazines had been laid out for her enjoyment; tea and biscuits sat on a console. She even had access to a bathroom, and thick, fluffy towels had been prepared for her. The young woman appreciated the gestures of welcome, and sat down to rest a bit before her performance. She only hoped that few people would recognize her, as her team would have neither the time nor the resources to Obliviate them all once her assignment was over. She absorbed herself in the reading of Rimbaud's The Drunken Boat until a house-elf came to fetch her.

Draco had been greeting his friends for an hour already, and was grudgingly grateful to Blaise for having organized this party. His friends' subtlety had protected the secret for less than a week, after which Draco had found out about the surprise birthday and had, albeit reluctantly, agreed to maintain it. Glasses of champagne and toasts of foie gras were passed around by house-elves. Suave music wrapped around guests without deafening them, establishing a mood of hip elegance that was the latest trend for the young professionals of the post-war world.

Suddenly, all the lights dimmed until darkness enveloped the guests and their surroundings in an opaque shroud.

"Blaise…" Draco growled.

He was certain he could hear his mocking laughter somewhere in the room, above the amused and curious whispers of his friends. A slow, languorous rhythm rose, accompanied by delicate cymbals and an oriental flute. Draco saw a candle light up a few feet ahead of him, held by a hand whose thin fingers were all it lit. The candle burnt off. Another candle was lit, located higher than the first, and when it moved to the side it revealed the gleam of amber eyes and fine features covered in black paint. It burnt off. As the rhythm became more pronounced and gained in speed, more candles were lit and followed the graceful movements of the woman who held them.

Because of the darkness, all that could be seen of the dancer was shown by the shifting candles. Her undulating torso, the arabesques made by her arms, the rapid yet small steps she made to bend or turn or sway like a swan's wing, were revealed by small bursts of candlelight. Draco watched, entranced, the hypnotizing gestures of the woman clad in black paint. She seemed familiar, but with her hair plastered back and painted dark, and the shifting sources of light, all he could do was surrender to the magic of her body as she danced amidst flying candles.

At last, in one gracious gesture, she revealed a small dome of chocolate adorned with a single candle. Time stood still as the dance ended, the woman holding the cake toward Draco, waiting, no doubt, for his friends to begin the birthday. And so, with Blaise leading them, they wished Draco the best of birthdays in a chorus of oddly assorted, if altogether enthusiastic, voices.

Stepping forward, Draco readied himself. In the flicker of the sole candle, he recognized the honey-brown of Ginny's eyes, burning with a flame of their own. He couldn't prevent himself from smiling, not entirely surprised. His eyes not leaving hers, he leaned forward and blew the candle. Applause and cheers erupted, and a few seconds later, the lights were on again. Ginny was gone.

As agreed, she had returned to her room following the performance. She took a warm shower, removing the paint that coated her skin and hair. She had always loved this dance, taught to her by the Patil twins after she had expressed an interest in Indian choreography, but had never shown it to anyone but them. A shiver ran though her as she thought back to the intensity of Draco's gaze when he had blown his candle. She was horrified to realize that it was not a shiver of fear.

Ginny wandered back into her room, where she found a house-elf standing so straight he appeared to have a ruler for a spine. He bowed very low.

"Miss Weasley, Master Malfoy would like to invite you to the rest of the festivities."

Ginny stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. This was indeed what she had hoped for, though she had expected it to be a request to wait for him in his quarters rather than an invitation to publicly attend his birthday.

"That would be lovely, but—" She looked down at her robes. "I'm afraid I'm not dressed up for the part."

"Master said that was not to be a problem, Miss Weasley. Master has the solution for everything."

And, indeed, a little while later, Ginny headed downstairs to the living room where, an hour prior, she had performed for the cream of British wizarding society. A few heads turned her way when she walked through the door, wearing a dark green dress that, though it was strapless, flared mid-thigh to reach her knee. Ginny thought it fit her perfectly, a fact that was a bit disturbing considering how well she knew Draco; to this, one could add the oddity of his having had a dress prepared for her, and one that highlighted her pretty shoulders and slender legs while preserving her modesty.

She went looking for her host, but he found her first.

"Green suits you marvellously."

"Thank you for the dress."

"Thank you for the dance."

Ginny smiled and shrugged.

"You have Blaise to thank for that. Who knew Slytherins could be such good friends?"

Draco took her arm and looped it around his, and started walking across the crowd.

"I'll have you know that Blaise is a pathetic excuse for a Slytherin. Champagne?"

"I'd like that, yes. Why is that?"

"He cannot keep a secret to save his life. My surprise birthday party, for one, was out in the open within a few days."

Ginny laughed, and the rich, throaty sound made Draco's eyes latch onto her lips. He longed to claim them as his own, but would have to wait until his guests left. He only hoped she would stay that long, and for that reason had asked the tailor house-elf to create a dress for her as soon as she had vanished following the dance. With the ease of the perfect host he had been raised to become, he handed her a flute of champagne and they toasted.

"So these are your friends?" Ginny asked in mock wonder.

"Yes, the ones you see here actually are."

"I would have expected them all to be Slytherins," she added, noticing quite a few Ravenclaws, as well as wizards looking distinctly foreign.

"I've outgrown my childhood prejudices," he said somewhat seriously, turning to look at her.

"Is that so?"

There was no mistaking the amusement in her voice.

"That is very much so," Draco said, leaning enough that she could feel the proximity of his skin.

Had they been alone, she would have closed the gap between their heads and reacquainted herself with the sharp planes of his face, with his thin and unyielding lips, with the strands of his hair that stuck to his forehead when things got too heated. Draco saw that longing in the way her pupils dilated, and gently tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear.

"Tease," she whispered.

"Not at all. I'd be happy to oblige," he murmured back.

A pretty Ravenclaw chose that moment to join them and start asking Draco about how his affairs were doing. Ginny could not remember her name, but expected more tact and intelligence from the Ravenclaw, who thoroughly ignored the tension between them. Ginny looked around and was half-glad to find Blaise walking toward her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked, offering her a glass of champagne.

Ginny couldn't help but think that, somehow, Slytherin men always seemed to have a flute of champagne ready for the innocent Gryffindor they thought her to be.

"I am, yes. I guess you were right about this being a good idea."

"I usually am."

He made the comment offhandedly, but the intensity of his gaze made Ginny falter. She briefly wondered why she had not noticed earlier that Blaise eyed her with the same hunger she occasionally found in his best friend's eyes. The young man immediately sensed her discomfort, and an amused smile twisted his lips.

"So tell me, Ginny Weasley, how does it feel to be in the serpent's den?"

The minute he used her nickname, Ginny was reminded of Blaise's shady behaviour the day he and Draco had first seen her at New Moon. This evening, though, their company forced him to be absolutely polite – as had the presence of Narcissa Malfoy when Ginny had agreed to celebrate Draco's birthday. Yet behind the impeccable manners, there was an unctuousness to his smile, a predatory quality to the way he always placed himself between her and Draco, that would have made him Ginny's top suspect had Draco not been the one showing explicit interest in her. Blaise could not have been more interested in her than in a Chinese vase, but at this moment Ginny would have given anything to be anything but that Chinese vase.

"I wouldn't call it the serpent's den, really. It's a beautiful house."

"Splendid, yes. It's a wonder the Malfoys were allowed to keep it after the war," he added thoughtfully, the glimmer of amusement still faint in his eye.

"Oh? Doesn't your family boast an equally splendid manor?" she spat back.

He grinned malevolently.

"My, my, aren't we getting touchy….Yes, we do have several properties across Europe."

"Proof that money will buy you anything."

"Proof that charm will get you anything, dear Ginevra. Nuance," he chuckled. "And speaking of Prince Charming," he added, pointing to Draco, who was headed toward them, "I know of one, at least, who doesn't like to share his toys."

"I'm no to—"

"Goodnight, Ginny."

He bowed obsequiously and was gone before Draco reached them. The fair-haired wizard did not look pleased. Though Ginny couldn't tell whether it was because of his discussion with the Ravenclaw or because of the curt words exchanged between Zabini and herself. Draco apologized for having abandoned her, and subsequently resumed his role as irreproachable host.

With grace and so subtly that she wasn't even aware of the fact, he made Ginny stay until most of the guests were gone. He invited her to dance, presented her to his friend or that one, went to fetch additional drinks or discussed the most random variety of subjects so that Ginny not once realized how late it was. Blaise had left, giving the pair a sly look. Astoria Greengrass had been nearly impolite in bidding her farewell, while Pansy Parkinson had worn a knowing look, indicating that Ginny would be the next notch on Draco's bedpost; she hadn't seemed to mind, and, ironically enough, neither had Ginny.

"Well, I should probably be getting home," Ginny said, when they were the only two remaining.

"Nonsense. You can stay in one of the guest rooms. Come, I'll show you the way," he said, and took her arm, leaving her no chance to refuse.

This is it, Ginny thought, glad that she still had her wand on her, her senses alert. She decided to highlight her reluctance, even though the adrenaline now coursing through her veins urged her to go along with it.

"But I really don't—"

Draco stopped and put a gentle finger on her lips.

"Please. I am grateful for what you did tonight, and for you to stay so late was more than I could hope for. I would feel like a miscreant if I allowed you to Floo home at this hour."

"I still have the Portkey."

Draco shook his head.

"It expired at midnight. I suppose neither my mother nor Blaise expected you to stay that long."

He strongly doubted that Blaise had been that innocent, but he found himself grateful for his tactful omission of the Portkey's limitations. He was beginning to suspect that Ginny would never have agreed to the fact had she known she wouldn't be able to leave. He had no idea just how wrong he was.

"How do you know that your mother helped?" she asked, following his lead in a silent assent to his proposition.

"How else would you have been able to get past Whitecastle's wards? Blaise is not a Malfoy."

Ginny acknowledged that and noticed that they were taking a set of stairs she was sure she did not recognize.

"My room isn't –"

"The house-elves took all your belongings and necessary items to a guest room. The one in which you stayed was only a resting rom."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but in the penumbra of the corridor he did not see her.

"So, how many rooms are there in Whitecastle?"

"Five suites with offices, twenty guest rooms, five resting rooms, three ball rooms, three dining rooms, seven salons, about a dozen boudoirs, six smoking rooms, two–"

"Enough," Ginny laughed. "I thought your mother said this was one of the smaller properties."

Draco looked at her with some surprise, although she could tell that he was amused by what she assumed to be her plebeian awe.

"It is," he confirmed very seriously.

"With more than fifty rooms? That doesn't sound very intimate," she retorted.

All of a sudden he had her backed up against a wall, his body flush against hers.

"Oh, I assure you, Ginny, that it can be very intimate."

The spark of expectation that radiated through her belly was not, this time, caused by the thrill of the impending capture of Draco Malfoy, triple murderer of innocent young women. Caught somewhere between the thrill of the hunt and the excitement of completion, that sensation was entirely too good, nearly sinful. It was more than enough for her to fall into the very trap she had set for the young man.

"Is that so?" she asked quirkily, echoing their earlier conversation.

"That is," he replied, as his lips neared hers achingly slowly, "most definitely so."

She felt rather than heard his last words, the vibrations of sound running through her fleshy lips. Then their mouths melted together and there was no sound left but the rustling of their clothes, the brushing of their skin, and the gasps of exquisite pleasure that followed them to Draco's bed. Ginny belatedly realized that he had had no intent whatsoever to have her sleep in the guest room. She also realized that she was more than okay with that.