Twilight of the Dawn

The past is but the beginning of a beginning, and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. -- H.G. Wells, The Discovery of the Future

Prologue

Something had woken her up.

A sound, she thought, but when she opened her eyes she couldn't sense anything amiss. Her nightlight, a candlelit porcelain white lamb, covered the room with a soft, flickering glow. At sixteen, it seemed a bit silly to be afraid of the dark, but it was something that had managed to plague her for years.

Her eyes scanned the room as carefully as possible without moving a muscle. It was a practiced movement; one Ginny used whenever she was hiding from the things that went 'bump' in the night. If they didn't see you move, they didn't know you were awake, and then you had the advantage.

The closet door was still shut tight. Her stuffed animals stared at her somberly from the window seat. Everything seemed to be in its rightful place. The only thing she couldn't see without turning her head was the overstuffed chair by the bed, backed into the right corner of her room. Ginny was reluctant to move, but knew that if she didn't check, she wouldn't have a prayer of falling back asleep. Although her instinct was to roll over inch-by-inch, as slowly as possible, she forced herself to shift naturally, as if in her sleep, keeping her eyes mere slits.

A small gasp escaped her as she settled onto her side - a man was sprawled out in her chair, his knees nearly brushing the edge of her mattress. She choked back a scream and kept completely still, hoping that her soft gasp hadn't given away her alertness. Her mind whirled, her heart thumped rapidly in her chest and she knew it was almost impossible for the man to think she was still asleep. But he didn't move.

She stared at him, frozen for what seemed like hours, but couldn't possibly have been much longer than five minutes. She didn't even see him twitch once. Her first thought was that he was dead, but she could hear his light breathing and could see his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

He was asleep. The man had broken into her room and then fallen asleep.

Curious now, she pushed her covers away and came to her knees on the edge of the bed, leaning forward. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, but his head was tipped back slightly, hiding his face. He wore dark robes open over a dark jumper and cuffed trousers, a silver clasp in the shape of a serpent at his lapel. The strong column of his throat was pale and smooth, as were his hands resting along the arms of the chair. One sleeve was rumpled slightly, the hint of something darker than a shadow peeking out on the inside of his arm. Hesitantly, she stretched out her hand, her fingers tangling in the folds of fabric, sliding it farther up his arm.

She hissed under her breath and snatched her hand away, scrambling back until she was plastered against the headboard, fear snaking through her body once again. It was the Dark Mark.

She groped blindly for her wand, but it was no longer on the night table where she had set it upon getting into bed. She flicked her gaze back to the man in her chair, still immobile and silent, and spotted a wand - whether it was hers or his, she wasn't sure - dangling from his left hand, held loosely in his fist.

She didn't want to go near him again. She considered dashing for the door, but was afraid that any large movements or sounds would wake him and without a wand... Reluctantly, she inched towards him once more, swinging her legs quietly over the side of the bed, her bare feet coming to rest a scant foot from his. Just as cautiously as she had touched his arm, she placed her fingers on the end of the wand, drawing it slowly out of his grasp. She had nearly gotten a hold of the whole thing when his fist tightened around it, effectively staying its movements.

Ginny's heart clenched and she lifted her gaze to the man's face. His head now erect, his eyes open and boring into hers, she didn't have any doubt that she was deeply in trouble. She recognized the sharp features now; the cruel tilt of his mouth.

Only, as he gazed at her, she spotted an almost imperceptible softening of his countenance. "Ginny," he said, his voice thick from sleep.

Ginny? Since when did he ever call her by her proper name? With a small whimper, Ginny released her grip on the wand and started to slip back onto the bed, intending to escape over the other side and run for the door, but he quickly grabbed hold of her wrist.

"Ginny, listen to me," he said, scowling at her. He had dropped the wand and, with his free hand, he reached into his robes, pulling out a square brown-wrapped package. "Open this." He placed the package onto her lap, loosing his grasp on her wrist simultaneously.

Ginny stared confusedly at the parcel, her hands poised over the paper wrapping.

"Open it," he snapped.

Fingers shaking, she tore at the edges, smoothing the paper open to reveal three small objects: a gold orb, a square vellum book, and a jewel encrusted dagger. "What...?" She started, risking a questioning gaze at him.

He spread his fingers over the small book, his hand hovering close without touching. "Give the book and orb to Potter," he said, and then took her hand roughly, threading his fingers through hers. "Ginny, this is important. Look at me." He tugged hard on her hand, causing her to instinctively lean closer. His silver eyes glowed, reflecting the dim blaze from her nightlight. "Give them to Potter. And whatever you do," he added, "don't let Draco Malfoy near them." His grip on her hand turned almost painful. "Don't even let him suspect that you have them."

Ginny's eyes widened. "But, I thought... aren't you...?" She couldn't be mistaken. The man sitting in her chair, silver hair falling to his chin, eyes cold and storm-ridden, was most definitely Draco Malfoy. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak again, but he cut her off.

"Just promise me," he demanded. "Stay away from Malfoy."

"What's going on?" she asked, suspicion warring with her fear.

"Promise," he barked, ignoring her question.

"Fine, I promise," she said, her voice unsteady.

He released her, let out a deep breath and slumped back into the chair. "Merlin, you're difficult," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

She dropped her gaze to her lap. "What's the dagger for, then?" she asked.

"You," he said, gruffly.

"Me?" She ran a finger down the curved silver hilt, tracing the deep-set emeralds and rubies, the family crest carved into the sheath; the Malfoy family crest, she suspected. "I don't want it," she said, lifting it up to him, her hand clasping the covered blade.

He arched a brow. "No?"

Quicker than she could blink she was flat on her back on the bed, Malfoy's hard body pressing her into the mattress, the sharp knife pricking the vulnerable skin on the underside of her chin. Her heart thudded erratically in her chest, her breathing rapid as she stared up into Malfoy's harsh features. She was dumbly aware that she still had the empty dagger sheath clutched in her right hand.

Malfoy snorted in disgust and rolled off her, dropping the dagger onto her stomach. "Keep the knife," he said shortly. "Learn how to use it."

Ginny struggled into a sitting position, letting the dagger fall onto the bed beside her. She nodded mutely at him in acquiesce. "What's this all about, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you here?"

He bent his head towards her and said softly, "Do what I told you and you'll be fine."

She turned to look at him and was startled to find his face so close that their noses were nearly brushing. Wary of the gleam in his narrowed eyes, she was suddenly and acutely aware that she was in her thin summer nightdress, kneeling in the middle of her bed. "Stay away from you?" she queried, thinking at the moment that it was sound advice.

"That's right," he growled. "Stay away from me." But he took her chin in his hand and whispered roughly, "Close your eyes."

"Why?" She asked absently, her mind focused on his strong fingers as they stroked her jaw, inexplicable warmth curling low in her stomach.

"Do it," he coaxed, his mouth hovering over hers.

She could feel his breath fan her parted lips, and her eyelids drooped of their own accord. He canted her head slightly and gently brushed his mouth across hers once, twice, before settling into a soft kiss. The warmth in her belly spread outward in a rush, leaving her dizzy and clutching the covers of her bed blindly, a flush rising to the surface of her skin.

He gave a low groan, as if his control had broken, and increased the pressure on her lips, dropping his hand from her chin to cup her hip, pulling her closer. She unconsciously pressed against him, lifting her hands to rest at his waist, and then, as his tongue slid across the seam of her lips, boldly smoothing her hands up to curl her fingers into the silken strands of his hair.

Without warning, she found herself straddling his lap, still buried in the heated kiss, and his hands ran down her sides to graze the bare skin of her thighs. She gasped at his hot touch and he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into the recesses of her mouth, swallowing the mewling sounds she wasn't even aware she was making. She kissed him back fiercely, urged on by the feel of his palms smoothing up her legs and under her nightdress. His hands clutched her behind, roughly pressing her against his erection. And then the image of the Dark Mark, etched obscenely into his forearm, shimmered to the surface of her mind.

She froze, her eyes flying open, and jerked her head back, breathing hard. What was she doing? Her hands were still thrust in his hair, his, still cupping her bottom along the insistent hard ridge of his arousal. His eyes, heavy-lidded and smoldering, gazed knowingly into hers, a certain amount of self-loathing glowing in their depths.

Watching her intently, he slid a hand up her bare ribcage and gently palmed her breast. Her breath hitched as he bent down, his hand shifting to bear her breast higher, and flicked his tongue out to lick her puckered nipple, dampening the white cloth covering it. Her hands moved to grip his shoulders and she gasped his name as he nuzzled the valley between her breasts almost lovingly before returning his attention to the proffered nipple, enclosing his lips over it, sucking it deeply into his mouth, and laving it firmly with his tongue. She couldn't suppress a cry, her entire body tightening at the pull of his lips and teeth, the thin fabric proving no barrier at all to the sensations pouring through her from that single, intense contact, his mouth burning her skin.

But some distant sanity remained, and she managed to slip her palms over his cheeks and tried her best to push his head away from her body. "Please," she cried when he wouldn't budge.

Finally, after Ginny had resorted to tugging on his ears, he lifted his mouth from her, staring fixedly at her nipple, dark against the wet cotton. Underneath her gown, his thumb slipped up and skimmed the plump underside of her breast, resting just beside the sensitized areola.

"Draco, stop," panted Ginny, her lungs constricting almost painfully in her chest.

He straightened slowly, his hands trailing down to encircle her waist. Breathing hard, the tops of his cheekbones flushed, he lifted her off his lap and settled her beside him on the bed. "Give me a minute," he rasped, resting his elbows on his knees, lowering his head into his hands.

Ginny nodded, her mind numb, her breast still tingling, and clasped her hands limply in her lap. What had just happened? What had she done? Nearly given herself to a Death Eater, is what. Nearly shagged a Malfoy under her parent's roof. Exactly under, in fact, the twin's bedroom, with Ron and Harry sound asleep next door.

"I need to go," he said, eyes averted.

"Okay," she said in a husky murmur.

At the sound of her voice, he turned to look at her, his expression dark and distant. "Remember what I said."

"Stay away from you," she said, absently rubbing the damp circle at her breast.

He gave a mirthless laugh. "Yes, stay away from me. But the rest, Ginny, the rest is just as important."

The dagger lay next to her on the bed. The book, barely larger than her hand, lay open haphazardly on the floor next to the overstuffed chair. The orb had rolled across to the closet; the light glinting against it's filigreed design. Ginny nodded again. "I'll give them to Harry," she said, only inside she was thinking the opposite. He was acting so strangely - calling her by her first name; talking of himself in the third person; telling her to stay away, and then practically attacking her with passion; not to mention the fact that he'd shown up, unannounced, in the middle of the night in her bedroom. No, she didn't trust Malfoy. She didn't trust that what he'd given her wouldn't harm Harry, and until she figured out what was going on, she'd keep everything to herself.

He reached over and gently drew her hand from her breast, his brief gaze on her body filled with longing. He licked his lips, and then whispered, "Remember."

She was unsure if he was referring to his message, or the way he'd nearly ravished her, but before she could say anything at all, he flicked open a round object, turned it several times, and then disappeared in a burst of pale blue light.