Twilight of the Dawn

Chapter Two

"Where's Gin?" Ron asked, plopping down on the sofa next to Hermione.

"Not here," she replied, not bothering to look up from her book.

"Well, I gathered that."

Hermione frowned down into her text. "Gather somewhere else, why don't you?"

Ron yawned, refusing to be irked by Hermione's words. "She wasn't at breakfast," he persisted.

One brow arched, Hermione finally glanced up from her book. "Neither was I," she said.

"Yes," Ron acknowledged, "but I've found you, haven't I?"

Hermione snorted and shifted back to her studying, only she'd lost her concentration. Ginny had been missing a lot of breakfasts lately. Sighing, she slammed her book shut. "Come on," she said, rising from the cushions. "Let's go see if we can find her."

Ron jumped up after her. "Are we skipping class then?" he asked, hopeful.

"We've got," Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall of the common room, "almost a half hour 'till our first class."

"So you're saying we're not," he grumbled.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "Just get your books." She gathered up her things and headed for the portrait hole, thinking that if they stopped by the library she could pick up the Potions book she needed for her next essay.

She stepped out into the hall and froze, Ron bumping up against her back. Zabini lounged against the wall opposite, arms crossed and a thoughtful frown marring his otherwise handsome face.

"What are you doing, Zabini?" Ron asked, skirting around Hermione.

Zabini shifted his gaze away from Hermione - who seemed to have been struck dumb, to her utter embarrassment - and turned to look at Ron.

"Waiting for Ginny," he answered.

"She's not here," Hermione managed, forcing a smile. "We're going to look for her." Oh, good going, Hermione, she told herself, realizing she sounded like an over-eager child. She cringed as Zabini arched a mocking brow. "I mean... she missed breakfast, and we were worried..." Good Merlin, I'm babbling now! She threw Ron a desperate glance, but he was looking at her in wide-eyed confusion.

"You feeling all right, Hermione?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, clenching her hands into fists. "Just fine." She turned and started down the hallway, only to have Zabini fall in step next to her.

"I'll just join you, then, shall I?" he said, his lips curving up into a mischievous grin.

Hermione nearly groaned in frustration and bit back a sharp 'no.' She was dreading whatever retaliation he had planned for the incident on the train, her body tense as they made their way down the stairs.

Ron, oblivious, started singing something under his breath that sounded a bit like 'Yes, we have no bananas.'

"Weasley," Zabini said, glancing over his shoulder at Ron, "why don't you check the library while Granger and I go down to Ginny's first class?"

Alone with Zabini? No way, thought Hermione. "I've got to pick up a book, so I'll just go with Ron," she said, giving Zabini a faltering smile. Oh, he's got something nasty planned. I just know it.

He seemed amused by her discomposure. "Of course," he said, pleasantly.

Hermione was surprised that he'd given in so quickly, and with no apparent malice in his voice. Curious, she found herself suddenly wanting to go down to the Potions lab with him. She bit her tongue to keep from calling after him as he disappeared into the dungeons.

Ron watched him as well. "Weird, isn't it?" he asked.

"What is?" Hermione replied absently as they turned towards the library.

"Well, last time you two were in the same space with each other, you cleaned the floor with him. I'd have thought he'd be a bit more pissed off at you." He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "He seemed quite civil, though."

"You think that's weird, do you?"

Ron looked startled. "Don't you?"

Hermione played with the hem of her sleeves. "I suppose," she said, nonchalantly.

"You suppose?" he asked, incredulous. "Don't you think he's planning on getting revenge? Do you think he's just going to sit back and forget everything?"

"Well, no," she snapped. "I'd just prefer not to dwell on it, all right?" She sniffed indignantly. "You could have been a bit more help, too, you know."

"Huh?"

"Yes, we have no bananas? Really, Ron."

"Harry was singing it at breakfast," Ron said defensively. "Sticks in your head."

Hermione scoffed, but inwardly she was humming the idiotic song herself. She could only hope it plagued Zabini, as well.

******

Despite the good week and a half of practice she had gotten in before returning to Hogwarts, Ginny was still shaky with the dagger, the nicks on her left arm testament to her lack of skill. She'd tied her handkerchief around the deepest scratch and doggedly continued her attack on the gray, vaguely human-shaped, stuffed dummy she had charmed to counter her moves and set up in the middle of the room.

It had taken her several days to find a place suitable to practice in, until she'd remembered the Room of Requirement. It was perfect, and not only did it provide her with privacy and space, but all sorts of useful weaponry books and the life-size dummy that was currently hanging from the light fixture, sporting a wide, malicious grin.

She thrust forward with her right hand, aiming for the heart, only to have the dummy's stuffed arm swing up a split second before the knife could sink into the material, sending Ginny sprawling backwards. "Shit," she cursed, the dagger this time missing her skin and slicing her robes as she hit the stone floor. She had the stances correct, she was sure; she just wasn't quick enough. "Shit, shit, shit." She threw the knife across the room in frustration, watching as it bounced off the hard stone, hoping the blade would break. But, of course, it didn't. It came to a skidding halt only a half-foot away from the dummy, jewels and silver glinting in the yellow light.

She sighed and flopped onto her back, squinting up at the high ceiling, breathing heavily. She was tired. Her muscles ached. The cut on her arm throbbed. And it was only an hour after dawn.

A creak and then a loud crack snapped her out of her daze. She struggled to a sitting position to find the gray dummy bending down, the ropes from its shoulders and head broken and trailing along the ground. She was so astonished by the sight, she didn't realize it had picked up her dagger until it straightened, knife poised threateningly in its lumpy hand.

She quickly rose to her feet as the stuffed target advanced on her; it's chuckles echoing around the brightly lit chamber. Ginny might have found it funny if the thing didn't seem so intent on maiming her. What for, she couldn't really say, since she hadn't, as yet, managed to even touch the dummy with the tip of the knife. She supposed it was just angry she'd even tried.

"Now..." she started, hands braced out in front of her, but she trailed off. What, exactly, did you say to calm a charmed dummy? Not that it seemed particularly out of control. It actually seemed quite methodical in its approach and, thinking it might be best not to wait and see what it had planned, Ginny turned tail and ran.

She could hear the soft, slippery footfalls as the dummy chased after her and she slid to a stop at the door, her hands frantically grasping at the handle, cursing as she fumbled with the lock. Wand, wand... Where was her stupid wand? She ducked her head to search her robes and the blade whirred past her ear to sink into the wooden door. She yelped, spun away from the door and took off around the room again.

Glancing over her shoulder she saw the dummy struggling with its malformed hands to pry the dagger out of the door. She paused to catch her breath and once again started searching through her robes for her wand. What had she done with it? Left it in her room? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dummy had abandoned the knife and was starting towards her again. With a frustrated oath, she gave up trying to find her wand, flew around to the other side of the room, circling behind the dummy's back, and proceeded to pull at the embedded dagger herself.

"Aha!" she cried when the splintered wood gave way and, with the loosed knife in her hand, she turned to face the dummy again. "Let's see your moves now, cotton brain."

The dummy was still grinning evilly at her, the beady black eyes making it even creepier. She dodged its puffy hand as it swung up to her head and shifted forward to slice the dummy's side. At the last moment, the creature's other hand slammed down on her wrist, pushing it roughly away, but Ginny stayed on the balls of her feet, keeping her balance as she turned and aimed for the now unprotected heart.

With extreme satisfaction she felt the sharp blade sink into the dummy's coarse body. "Yes!" she shouted. She'd battled and won! Only, she'd managed to completely forget that dummies, charmed or not, didn't have any vital organs. The dummy's mouth formed a small 'o' as she pulled out the dagger from its body, but it didn't so much as sway on its feet.

And she still didn't have her wand.

While the dummy was still stunned by her successful attack, she turned and flipped the lock that had been so hard for her to handle earlier, flung the door open wide and fled out into the hall, not even pausing to see if the dummy was following. She clattered down the hall, boot heels high and robes flying out behind her... and ran smack into something hard.

She fell to the floor with an undignified 'oof,' her legs twisting underneath her, and looked back over her shoulder to see the dummy stalking her carefully down the hall. "Shit," she muttered, scrambling to her feet and backing up until she bumped something solid. The hand that snaked out to catch her arm and the wand that appeared over her shoulder, however, told her that it wasn't a something, but a someone, that she had pressed herself against.

"Finite Incantatum," a voice said, sending a flash of blue light towards the gray dummy, and Ginny watched, relieved, as it dropped heavily to the floor.

Deep guffaws erupted behind her and she whirled to find Draco Malfoy doubled over in laughter. "What...?" he gasped out between snickers. He shook his head and continued laughing.

Ginny feared he was near hysterics.

"Oh God, that was the funniest thing I've ever seen," he said, his normally pale face pink with mirth. "What the hell did you do, Weasley? Try and make yourself a boyfriend?" This thought seemed to strike him as even funnier and he started laughing harder, moving to lean against the stone of the corridor walls, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

Ginny scowled. "Thanks for the help, Malfoy," she bit out, then turned and strode over to the dummy, leaning down to heft it into her arms.

"No... no need for thanks," he chuckled. "You just made my day. Seeing you running like a bat out of hell, with that... that thing chasing you." He shook his head again. "I only wish I'd had a pair of omnioculars so I could replay that sweet moment over and over again."

Ginny would have taken more offense if there hadn't been such pure amusement in his eyes. As it was, she felt only mildly ticked-off. "Yes, well, glad you're so delighted." She shifted the dummy higher in her arms and made to walk off down the hall.

"Hang on, Weasley," Malfoy said, moving swiftly after her.

"Oh, are you done laughing, then?" Ginny asked, tilting her chin up.

"Not hardly," he smirked, grabbing onto her wrist to stay her. With his other hand he tugged at the once white handkerchief tied around her forearm. He shook his head. "How did you manage this?"

Ginny shrugged and tried to yank her hand out of his grasp. "I tripped and fell." She pulled harder. "Let go, Malfoy."

He ignored her and bent his head over the cut, blood slowly seeping out of the wound without the aid of the tight bandage. "You fell on something sharp." He whistled. "That's a clean slice, Weasley." He lifted his head and arched a slim, silver brow. "Planning on getting this taken care of anytime soon?"

She finally managed to wrestle her arm out of his grip and hugged it close to her chest. "Yes," she snapped. "Although it's none of your business." Really, for someone who had warned her away not three weeks ago, he was acting rather chummy.

His eyes gleamed suggestively. "I could make it my business," he said, sliding his warm palm over the outside of her forearm and slipping it up the sleeve of her robes.

Ginny shivered at his touch, fighting the urge to step closer to him. Something was different. The flash of wanting in his eyes, the haze of lust she recognized, was accompanied by greed, where before, on that warm summer night, she swore she'd seen something akin to affection buried in the gray.

Fascinated, she stared at his face, finally catching the subtle differences she hadn't noticed on the train. The features were the same, only... softer somehow, still clinging slightly to boyishness. On a whim, she reached out and caught his left wrist.

"What do you think you're doing, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, startled, but he didn't jerk his arm away.

She ignored him as she hastily shoved up his sleeve. The skin was pale and unmarked. She traced her finger over the maze of light blue veins visible over the bones of his wrist, fading into the thicker muscles in his forearm.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. It hadn't been a portkey that had flashed Malfoy in and out of her room that night, as she'd assumed. It had been a Time-Turner.

******

Pure selfishness had been his motivation for returning. He could tell himself that it was to make sure she'd given the orb to Potter, but it wasn't anywhere near the truth. When he had gone to her that night, he'd foolishly thought that she might not recognize him; but she had, of course, and somehow that made it harder to stay away.

In the shadow of a darkened doorway, he watched the exchange between his younger self and Ginny, feeling ridiculously jealous. He knew what the stupid git was thinking - that he could use her; use what power he had sensed in her for his own advantage. Only, the prat didn't realize that what he'd sensed had nothing to do with magic. And he wouldn't realize it. Not until it was too late.

Cursing under his breath, he watched as Ginny fled down the hall, dragging a mass of gray in her arms. His younger self watched as well, his hand wrapped protectively around his left forearm, and Draco couldn't help but glance down at his own arm, at the hated mark forever burned into his skin.

When he looked up again, his younger self was gone and he cautiously slipped towards the stairs. Muttering the password to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office, he took the steps two at a time and entered after a quick, short knock, not waiting for an invitation.

Dumbledore lifted his head as Draco strode in and stopped directly in front of his desk. "Mr. Malfoy," he greeted him, a small smile gracing his lips.

"I want you to keep them apart," Draco demanded without preamble.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a steeple under his chin. "I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Damn it, Dumbledore, you know what will happen!" Draco shoved a hand through his hair and turned to pace the length of the small room.

"And you know why," Dumbledore said softly. "Your path is set, Mr. Malfoy, or you wouldn't be here now."

"No, I wouldn't be," Draco said bitterly. "And Potter wouldn't have the means to end the war and save the whole fucking world so we can all live happily ever after, right?"

Dumbledore stared at him silently for a few moments, thinking back on the first visit he'd had from the man in front of him, mid-summer. He thought on how Draco had made him listen, despite his protests, as he recounted the future, bleak in the wake of Harry Potter's death at the Dark Lord's hands. "You would have come anyway," he said finally.

"What? You mean if she hadn't...?" God, he still couldn't even bring himself to say it. He shook his head. "It took that to make him... me... snap everything into focus."

"If you truly believe that, Draco," Dumbledore said, leaning forward, "then why did you give her the dagger?"

Draco dropped down into the chair in front of the desk, rubbing his hands over his face. He was so tired. Tired of everything. And all he wanted to do was to go find Ginny and stare at her for hours on end. "You know about that?"

"I know about quite a lot," he said, eyebrow arched, slight amusement twinkling in his blue eyes.

"I shouldn't have given it to her," Draco said firmly, although he knew if he had to do it all again, he would.

"She practices quite a bit with it," Dumbledore said, watching Draco covertly for his reaction.

Draco kept his face carefully blank. "Does she?"

The Headmaster's eyes turned serious. "You've given her a fighting chance, Draco."

"It won't matter." Draco gazed down at his white-knuckled hands grasping the edge of Dumbledore's desk, and knew that with every fiber of his being he wished it would matter.

Dumbledore noticed Draco's tension, despite his cool façade, and reached for a lemon drop, rolling it thoughtfully between his fingers. "Maybe not," he said simply, sensing that anything he could say would bring little comfort.

Draco stood and rolled his shoulders. "I should go," he said, but instead of pulling out his Time-Turner, he walked slowly to the door.

"Are you going to see her?" Dumbledore asked as Draco reached for the knob.

"No," he said, his back to the Headmaster. He sighed. "Maybe," he admitted.

"I would advise against it, Mr. Malfoy. But," Dumbledore added, knowing somewhat of Draco's pain and the future they were trying so desperately to alter, "I understand."

Draco nodded curtly, then slipped from the office, and leaned back against the closed door. He wanted to see her. Badly.

He took the Time-Turner out of his pocket, staring at the unassuming form, the rounded clear glass. Resigned, he turned it twice and flashed back to where he belonged.