Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series, I only like to play with the characters. I'm a penniless college student so it's pointless to sue, you won't get anything worthwhile.

Author's note: Lucius/Ginny is a surprisingly popular pairing these days. It's bold, it's edgy, it's original, and it sure as heck is never going to happen in the books. I've read a lot of fics featuring the pair, and I've liked a few of them immensely, but no one has ever written a fic I could put my finger on and say, "There, that is exactly what I imagine their courtship would be like," as I have with some other pairings/plotlines. So I endeavor to compose a piece of fanfiction that does this, at least for me. I adore good reviews, and if you see a glaring grammatical/spelling error (sometimes I update too quickly for my own good), don't hesitate to point it out.

Ginevra – Prologue
The Man With the Purple Champagne

Dancers swirled in all directions, rotating to the flow of the orchestral music being played by the smallish band of musicians spaced out around a wooden platform in the corner of the large ballroom.

From all around the room came the sound of at least a hundred feet in various types of shoes, scuffing, tapping, scraping, pattering across the marble floor - a natural rhythmic percussion echoing and enhancing the beat of the harmonically lilting waltz music.

Old men in silken robes sporting long white beards conversed together of many things of the past - the good times, the bad times; small things that would never be added to the pages of a History of Magic textbook.

Young ladies and young gentlemen bedecked in their best robes, and some even in muggle fashions - oh how the wizarding world had changed after the fall of Voldemort! - flirted and helped themselves to champagne and the dance floor, with the occasional brazen youth trying his mettle in a conversation with the elderly witches and wizards discussing magical philosophy and ancient history.

Muggle born witches and wizards mixed comfortably with pure bloods...for the old ways were dead, they died with Voldemort, and lived only with the few remaining Death Eaters incarcerated within Azkaban and never again to see the light of day. The two or three pure blood snobs and possible Death Eaters who escaped notice or got off by "donating" a large pile of galleons to Cornelius Fudge's reelection campaign were hardly in the position to complain or try to uphold the old ways against the will of the majority.

There was a new atmosphere in the wizarding world, a spirit that took hold of everyone and seemed almost too good to be true. It was certainly pervasive at this party - everyone glad merely to be alive; to be able to enjoy life again without the looming threat of death and destruction. All the normal entertainments of a magical ball seemed suddenly new and thrilling, it was a pleasure merely to be there - for nearly everyone.

A tall blond gentleman, in perhaps his forties – and wearing rather plainer garments than the few guests who recognized him were accustomed to seeing him in - stood in the corner, a glass of charmed violet champagne in his left hand. He watched the lively crowd moodily, and one particular young lady especially, an attractive redhead in a muggle party dress of burgundy and black brocade, tipping around the dance floor in delicate heels of black. A goddess she seemed, small and pretty and young, and oh so happy to be there among her friends. She laughed, and her whole face lit up, her caramel brown eyes shining with merriment. She seemed oblivious to the world. He read cares in her face, recent pain, obliterated for the night by the wine and the music and the pleasurable company. There was something so familiar about her, but he couldn't place her in his memory.

The platinum haired wizard with the purple champagne wondered who she was, this girl, nearly as much as he desired to dance with her. He dared not approach her, however - he was there on the good graces of the host only, invited out of propriety, and had accepted on a whim. He was no longer liked nor thought well of by the vast majority of the wizards in this room, and was therefore relegated to standing in the corner watching others participate, or conversing in low tones with the raven haired, hook nosed Hogwarts professor occasionally making social rounds in the crowd.

After a half hour, the blond man was beginning to tire of watching the party. His purple champagne had dwindled to a mere drop, as had his spirits – he longed for the days when he was the center of attention at one of these balls, not the ignored enigma in the corner - this was torture, not entertainment.

Still simmering with curiosity about the redhead, he placed his empty champagne glass on a nearby tabletop and strode thoughtfully across the room to where his host was seated with his wife and a few of the couple's closest friends. As he did so, he passed the redhead and decided to allow himself one more glance at her. She was fascinating, he thought, and perhaps even lovelier up close than she had been from across the room. Once again he wondered who she was.

As his eyes grazed her face she turned, and for a moment she met them with her own. She looked thoughtful, as if she knew him but couldn't place him, and then smiled gracefully. He nodded to her as he withdrew a lavishly wrapped token gift for his host out of the pocket of his ebony robes.

After politely thanking his host for a "lovely evening" (what a lie, he thought to himself), the tall blond man made his way to the cloak room, once again stealing a glance at the redhead. She was engrossed in the conversation of her friends around her, it seemed, but he could have sworn she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He left without another word to anyone.

The redhead craned her neck to see where the intriguing ashen-haired gentleman had gone after he passed by her once again. It seemed he'd left, she decided, and she was disappointed, though she knew not why. He seemed so familiar, and yet, she was quite sure he couldn't be who she thought he was.

She looked down, collecting her thoughts, and her eyes came to rest upon a small, shining object about three feet away from where she was standing. Curious, she took one step forward and bent down to pick it up with a slim white hand, then held it up into the light to peer at it. It was a ring, composed of tiny silver serpents coiled together with rubies for their miniscule eyes – clearly very expensive, and probably someone's family heirloom.

She quickly pocketed it with the intention of giving it to the host later, but was drawn into the conversation around her again by the slightly bushy haired brunette on her right, and didn't think of it again the entire evening.