Crepúsculo

Crepúsculo

Chapter 4

Fingers Crossed

BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP. Slam. Thud.

Ginny smiled peacefully, eyes never having opened during the process of relocating the offending alarm clock to the floor. Maggie and Laraby happily resumed snoring.

Cora, on the other hand... She and Ginny had some seriously unresolved morning perkiness issues.

Ginny's bed groaned under Cora's additional weight. Ginny buried herself under the duvet.

"Cora, it's a Monday."

"I know! Isn't it great?"

"Ginny," Laraby whimpered, "make it stop."

"Go 'way." Ginny freed a hand from the covers to swat at Cora. Her aim not being what it could have been if she were actually looking at her target, she missed spectacularly.

"You're missing a beautiful sunrise!"

Ginny raised the pillow enough to glare at the window through one eye. "It's raining."

Cora shrugged. "Then you're missing a beautiful storm!"

"You're in a terminally perky mood," Ginny replied from under the pillow.

"That sounds like a disease."

"Yes, well, if you keep it up, Maggie and Laraby and I may be forced to kill you."

"Dunno about Maggie, but count me in. Definitely," Laraby groaned.

Maggie continued to snore.

Cora abandoned Ginny's bed with a flying leap, landing directly on top of Maggie, who squealed and fell to the floor. "Hi Mags!"

"Bloody fucking HELL, Cora, can't you, for once in your life, let me wake up like a normal person? It's really not that difficult--" Cora's obviously unrepentant snickers interrupted her incensed tirade.

Ginny meant to commiserate with Maggie, but the amusement that crept onto her face conveyed that her loyalties lay elsewhere.

"You people are hopeless," Maggie said, burying herself in the blankets on the floor beside her.

Cora smiled winningly and scooted off to the shower.

Ginny eventually made it out of bed, into the shower, and off to breakfast. Jeremy gave her a nod of acknowledgement as she entered the Great Hall before returning to the pressing matter of his breakfast, and suddenly her reaction to his attention last night seemed irrational and emotional and stupid. She hadn't a clue why the whole thing had bothered her as much as it had.

Before she knew it, the meal had slipped past, and Cora was saying, "Come on, Gin. First bell Divination!"

Cora's unfailing cheerfulness absolutely astounded her sometimes.

After they had arrived in Divination and seated themselves on assorted poufs, chairs, and small furry animals, Trelawney explained that today was the fall equinox, and thus any predictions they attempted would be too strong for them to handle. Therefore they were polishing the Divination Department's extensive collection of crystal balls, a task that rapidly grew so tedious that even Trelawney herself dozed off in her armchair. Ginny didn't blame her. The pouf she herself was sitting on was actually pretty comfortable...

Trelawney suddenly sat bolt upright, eyes wide behind overly decorative glasses. "Students," she breathed, "I have had a Vision," the emphasis of her tone suggesting capitalization.

The class began to yawn awake.

"It is truly awful, my dears. Awful. One of our number"--she paused to look around at the students--"will leave us...and will not return."

Laraby's gasp was exactly on cue. Cora and Ginny exchanged a glance: Yeah, because she definitely hasn't predicted this for the past sixteen years running.

"And this student," Trelawney continued, as Laraby began to gnaw on her fingernails compulsively, "will leave us before the Yule!"

"The Yule?" Cora said.

"She means Christmas," Ginny replied.

Laraby made a valiant effort to faint. Trelawney revived her by holding smelling salts to her nose after a few moments.

"Pity she didn't just leave Laraby unconscious," Cora said.

No kidding.

With the exception of Laraby, however, the Gryffindors looked singularly unimpressed with Professor Trelawney's performance. Maybe hearing the same prediction from her each of the past three years had something to do with their lack of reaction.

One of the boys, Ricky Morison, raised his hand. "How do you know?"

Trelawney glared at him over her purple horn-rims. "How do I know what?"

"That one of us isn't going to last past Christmas."

"Because my Inner Eye informed me of it."

A couple of half-suppressed snickers sneaked into the air. No one admitted to them, although multiple students looked shifty.

"But what if you're misinterpreting it?"

"I do not misinterpret my Inner Eye."

Ricky persisted, "But how do we know that?"

Trelawney glared. "If you must, I'll show it to you in the crystal ball." She selected a periwinkle crystal and told the class to gather around her. The ball began to glow and she levitated it in the air. "Look at it, my dears, and see for yourselves."

Ginny saw nothing but cloudy blue glass at first, but dark shapes began to move through the mists. She saw the glint of a knife, leaves on the ground, flames, two figures--and the ball went dark.

"Well, class? What did you see?"

"Blue mist," Cora said, and the class laughed.

Ginny laughed with them, blaming the images she'd thought she'd seen on the room's hazy atmosphere. Anyone could imagine they were having Visions in this room, with all the perfume and purple poufs. Ron had been right all along: Trelawney was an old crackpot.

***********

Ginny managed to survive the rest of her classes, but the headache that had sprung up just after Divination wasn't helping, nor was the ridiculous amount of homework for the next day.

She and Cora were sitting at a table in the corner of the Common Room, frantically scribbling away on their Transfiguration essays, due first bell tomorrow morning. They had long since realized that there was simply nothing more to say on the subject of transfiguring kettles into koalas, especially as neither of them had any idea what a koala was. They were hoping it was some sort of bird.

"Maybe we should have asked someone about koalas," Cora said after some time.

"Too late now. I'm not rewriting this essay even if koalas turn out to be expensive Persian rugs."

Cora nodded in agreement, just as Hermione's head appeared in the midst of their stacks of books, saying, "Honestly, don't you two know anything about non-magical creatures?"

Ginny and Cora exchanged a glance. "Nope."

Hermione groaned. "They offer Muggle Studies for a reason, you know. They should make it a requirement for pureblooded wizards."

"Are you going to campaign for that, now, too?"

Hermione whipped around. "Shut up, Ron." Returning to Ginny and Cora, she said, "A koala is a marsupial."

"A marsiwhat?"

"A marsupial. It's an animal that--oh, nevermind. It's an Australian animal that looks like a gray teddy bear."

"Oh," Ginny and Cora responded, enlightened. Not that they were going to rewrite their essays to include this information or anything.

"I'm glad I was able to clear that up for you. Anyway, the reason I'm here is that I need to talk to you, Ginny."

"Look, Hermione, not to be rude, but I have a ridiculously large amount of homework due in the morning," Ginny said, gesturing at the mounds of books. "Is there any way this can wait till tomorrow?"

Hermione's eyes had taken on a wistful tint, most likely at the sight of so many heavy books in one place. "Tomorrow evening, then. I'll look for you in here."

"Thanks."

Hermione nodded and disappeared.

"Wonder what she wants with you, anyway," Cora said. Ginny was contemplating the same thing.

***********

Tuesday morning Transfiguration came and went without mention of handing in the kettle-koala essays, though a poster labeled KOALA in large bold letters had somehow affixed itself to the blackboard. Ginny wondered if the professor was hinting at something. Being a teacher, McGonagall was probably trying to give her class time to correct their essays. Being lazy students, few of them had any inclination to do so.

At lunch Jeremy asked her if she wanted to go to the Three Broomsticks with him in two Saturdays, on their first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Almost every boy she knew would have assumed that his girlfriend was going with him; it was old-fashioned and sincere and noble of him to ask, and reminded Ginny of that batty old knight in the portrait, Sir Cadogan, than anything else.

Ginny slept through History of Magic, ate an abbreviated dinner, and went to Quidditch practice. By the time she made it back to the Common Room, it was nearly eight, and she was sweaty, stinky, and ready for bed.

"There you are, Ginny," Hermione materialized at her side. "Let's go back to my room to talk."

"Can I take a shower first?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I've been waiting for you all evening. Come on."

"But I just got out of practice. You sure you want me in your room like this?" Not to mention that talking to Hermione wasn't exactly a priority of hers at the moment. She wouldn't argue with a shower, pajamas, and her bed, but a conversation with Hermione, even a friendly one, would require more alertness than she felt she could muster up at this point in the evening.

"Don't worry, Hermione, if she stinks up your room, I'm sure the house elves will take care of it," Ron put in, grinning cheekily.

"Will you please give the house elves thing a rest?" Hermione snapped. "I gave up on S.P.E.W. two years ago."

Ron shrugged, and winked at Ginny.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on, Ginny."

Ginny followed her reluctantly. Hermione led her up a stairway in the far corner of the Common Room, and paused at the top of the stairs to play with something on her wrist. Ginny examined the door, which proclaimed it the room of Hermione Granger, Head Girl, while Hermione produced a key she wore on a bracelet.

"The door can't be opened by magic," Hermione explained, wriggling the key in the lock. "The rooms of the Head Boy and Head Girl are protected by some of the strongest enchantments in the castle, and the keys can't be copied."

Hogwarts, A History, page 3802, Ginny thought dryly.

The door swung open to reveal Hermione's room. Ginny gaped. Far from the immaculate quarters she'd expected, Hermione's room was a disaster. Her desk was covered with books, papers, and quills; expansive diagrams of complex Arithmancy problems coated the floor; clothes dangled off desk corners, doorknobs, and every other conceivable hook, except the actual hangers.

"You'll have to excuse the mess," Hermione said.

"It's fine," Ginny said, staring at a pair of boxer shorts (boxer shorts?) that appeared to be stuck to the wall of their own accord. "You just never struck me as the messy room sort."

"Haven't got the time to clean it," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "I'd rather stay friends with Harry and Ron than organize my room."

"Good point."

"Hardly anyone ever sees it, at any rate," Hermione added. "I only brought you in here because the Head Boy's using our office."

"For what?"

"Head Boy business," Hermione said, looking decidedly shifty. She pulled out a businesslike tone and continued, "But you're distracting me from why I brought you here."

"It's a talent of mine."

"Yes, I'd noticed. Sit down." She gestured at a chair in front of the desk. Ginny picked up the bras and underwear on top of the chair and delicately placed them on the floor. She sat, as did Hermione, who was rummaging around on her desk. Eventually she found a quill and a more or less blank sheet of parchment. She cleared off an assortment of school-related items from the desk and said, "You're probably wondering why I asked you to come here."

"Yeah, that had crossed my mind."

"At the end of last year, when Stephen Cornfoot and I were selected as Head Boy and Head Girl, Professor Dumbledore had us meet with him regarding our duties for this school year. With the political situation being what it is, there are certain precautions we have put into place to prevent any regrettable situations from occurring."

"Like Barty Crouch convincing everyone he was Professor Moody two years ago?"

Hermione's eyes flashed briefly. "I don't suppose I need to mention that that's classified information." Ginny shook her head. "Some of the precautions we are taking involve behavioral analysis of the students and faculty. The prefects are in charge of this, under the guidance of Stephen Cornfoot and myself. We are, over the course of the year, conducting interviews with the student body in order to obtain information about occurrences in the school."

"What kinds of occurrences?"

"Everything that happens in the school," Hermione said smoothly. "We select the students we interview through a random screening process, and your name came up. Do you have any objections to this interview?"

Ginny shook her head. "No."

"All right, then, I'll begin." Hermione wetted her quill. "First off, have you had any trouble with school lately?"

"Other than way too much homework, no."

"Sixth year did have a lot of work," Hermione said wistfully. "Are any of your classes particularly difficult?"

"Just Potions. But that's nothing newsworthy."

"Besides Snape, do you especially dislike any of your teachers?"

"Some of the classes are a joke, but no, not really."

"Which classes?"

"Professor Trelawney's."

"Ahh," Hermione said. "For any particular reason?"

Ginny got the distinct feeling that Hermione knew exactly what she meant and was asking only for decorum's sake. "Any class where we spend two hours polishing crystal balls strikes me as a joke."

Hermione nodded. "And how do you feel about Professor Trelawney?"

Ginny thought for a moment. "Her Inner Eye's a load of bull."

Hermione couldn't quite hide a small smile. "How is Quidditch going?"

"Fine. But Harry could have told you that."

"Of course." Hermione looked down at her paper for a moment. "Tell me about your personal life."

"What do you want to know?"

"You're dating a Ravenclaw, aren't you?"

"News certainly gets around quickly here. It's only been a week."

Hermione smiled. "It's Hogwarts. Everyone knows everything."

"Yeah."

"What's his name?"

"Jeremy Hayden."

"Oh," Hermione said in recognition. "He's something of a troublemaker, from what I've heard."

Ginny smiled. "No worse than my brothers."

"It's pretty impossible to be more of a troublemaker than Fred or George," Hermione replied. "And your relationship with him is good?"

"Hermione, we've been dating for a week. But we've been friends for years."

"All right, then. I don't have any more questions..." she trailed off, then said slowly, "Well, one more. On the Hogwarts Express, when I was talking to you in the hallway, your jokes had teeth. I didn't remember you being like that."

The relaxed mood of the meeting flickered.

"You remember me as the little girl who liked pink dresses even though they clashed miserably with her hair, who had a hopeless crush on Harry Potter, and who wanted to go to Hogwarts more than anything."

"What are you trying to say?" All casualness had disappeared from Hermione's tone.

"That I changed a long time ago." She looked at Hermione. "Is there anything else?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I'm going to go take a shower now," she said, standing up.

Hermione stood up as well. "Thank you for your time," she said abruptly, and extended her hand. Ginny touched it lightly, and left.

She took her shower and put on her pajamas and lay in her bed, and did not fall asleep until dim morning light crept through the curtains and colored the carpet gray.

***********

Around Wednesday Ginny had the nagging feeling that something about this week was abnormal. By Thursday she'd figured out what it was: Draco Malfoy hadn't threatened, insulted, injured, or assaulted her in any way since Sunday morning, nor had he sent her any notes detailing clandestine meetings in towers. She didn't know what to do without his constant presence in her life.

Other than thoroughly enjoy herself, of course.

She was beginning to hope he'd forgotten about her altogether. He had to have a full schedule of Muggleborns to torment, first years to terrorize, and Young Death Eater meetings to organize, not to mention performing his Prefect duties, as he'd managed to bribe his way into the position. Add to that the many hours spent perfecting his hair each morning, and Draco Malfoy was apparently a very busy snake. It would hardly surprise Ginny if, between so many pressing demands on his time, she'd somehow slipped to the bottom of his To Do list.

By Friday morning Ginny was in a better mood than she'd been in all term. She had Ancient Runes, her favorite class, last bell--never mind that she had to get through double Potions first; that was only a tiny black smudge on her day--Jeremy had kissed her at breakfast, and when his hands touched her back her stomach had flip-flopped; and on top of all that, it was Friday, a day that invariably ameliorated her outlook on life. She was so happy by the end of breakfast that she managed to exit the Great Hall through exactly the wrong door and was down two flights of stairs before she realized her blunder.

She tried to retrace her steps, but the staircases had shifted, leaving her eight minutes further away from Potions than she would have been, had she exited by the statue of Bathsheba the Birdbrained rather than by that of Bethesda the Brokenhearted. She swore under her breath and took off, sprinting down the West-North-Western Hallway, dodging a group of ghosts, knocking over a few first years, and mowing over everything else in her way. She rounded the final corner onto Snape's hallway--and hit something solid and unyielding. She fell backwards with a groan; her bookbag broke open and scattered supplies everywhere. She caught a glimpse of floating silver hair as she fell.

"A bit clumsy today, aren't we, Weasley?" Malfoy smirked, making no move to collect her books or help her up.

Ginny resisted the urge to growl. "Aren't you cheerful, Malfoy. Have you been dismembering Ravenclaws again? Or was it Hufflepuffs, because that I could get into."

"You sound positively Slytherin," Malfoy remarked, making what should have been a compliment sound derogatory. He added as an afterthought, "Not that we allow such scum into Slytherin."

"Funny, as I've always viewed Slytherin as the scum. Speaking of which, why don't you scamper off and rejoin your fellow fungal growths? I have a class to attend." She slid the last of her books into her bag and marched purposefully towards him. "Excuse you, you're in my way."

He made no effort to move, only smiled falsely and said, "Don't think you can leave that easily, Weasley." He stepped closer. "When you may leave, I'll let you know." He lunged forward to claim her mouth, sucked on her breath, made her dizzy. She fell onto him in hopes that the world might stop spinning. It didn't. She felt his arms circle around her, his body press against hers, and she responded to his kiss with a passion that made his eyes widen--forcing his lips open, delving into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders, drunkenly dragging her fingers through his hair. He reciprocated in kind, reaching his hand behind her head to bring her closer to him, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth--and she bit down, hard, until she tasted his blood.

She pushed him away, licked her lips, and walked off, reveling in the expression of stunned surprise she'd evoked on his features. Professor Snape took away ten points for tardiness and almost gave her a detention, but she didn't care. Biting Draco Malfoy was worth ten detentions.

************

Ginny didn't see Malfoy at breakfast on Saturday, or at any of the other meals all weekend, for that matter. She was a little disappointed--she'd wanted to give him a predatory grin while licking her chops--but wasn't about to let it get in the way of enjoying her weekend, or rather her sleep: she hadn't a clue why, but she was exhausted. She barely left the dormitories except at mealtimes, and spent most of her days asleep in bed.

By the end of the weekend she had almost convinced herself that Malfoy had given up on her. Maybe she'd finally managed to rid herself of him, and now he would leave her alone and she would never have to speak to him again.

Maybe she could believe it now, as she lay in bed with the covers drawn up to her chin and the curtains closed around her. She was safe here in bed. Maybe she could never leave it.