Twilight of the Dawn

Chapter Five

Hermione couldn't sleep again. It was the fifth time in as many nights that restlessness kept her awake. She just couldn't seem to get the small book out of her mind. She'd close her eyes and the mess of foreign words and symbols would float behind her lids, taunting her. It bothered her endlessly that she wasn't making any headway with the translation.

With an irritated sigh, she flung off her covers and whipped her cloak about her shoulders, not bothering to change out of her nightgown. She moved swiftly and silently through the castle, watching cautiously for any sign of Filch or Mrs. Norris, and slipped through the front doors. Stepping out into the chill fall air she took a deep breath, and her lungs stung a little in protest of the cold.

The moon was bright and nearly full, hanging low in the sky, lighting the grounds of Hogwarts in an almost eerie glow. Pulling the cloak tighter around her body, Hermione sat down on the first step, tilting her head up to take in the stars.

From behind a large stone gargoyle, he watched her. Her face, pale in the moonlight, was tipped up to the sky, her mouth curved up in a small, secret smile. He couldn't recall ever seeing her brow smoothed of frowns, her eyes so wide.

"A little late for you to be out, don't you think?" he said, leaving his hiding place and dropping down next to her without invitation.

She straightened immediately, a scowl forming on her rosy lips. "What are you doing here, Zabini? Are you following me?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she gripped her wand tightly in her right hand.

"Would you believe me if I said no?" he asked, holding up his hands to show he wasn't armed.

She lowered her wand reluctantly. "Maybe," she said.

He chuckled dryly and leaned back onto the stone, resting on his elbows. "I couldn't sleep," he said.

Hermione sighed and tucked her wand back into her cloak, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Me either," she said dejectedly.

"Sad, Granger? I don't believe I've ever seen you sad. Angry, yes; possibly even irate and distraught; but sad?" He shook his head.

Hermione turned to look at him, his mouth wide in a grin and his eyes glinting in the moonlight. "If I'm sad it's because you've decided to grace me with your irritating, infuriating presence and ruin my midnight solitude. I was perfectly happy until you showed up."

He arched his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes. Really."

They fell silent, and Hermione turned her head to watch the moon's large reflection on the lake, the broken light rippling across the surface as one of the giant squid's tentacles undulated. She felt Zabini's eyes on her, but, oddly, they didn't make her nervous, as they had before, and she shifted to look at him again. Their eyes caught and held. She couldn't see much beyond the darkness, but she felt something pass between them, something calming and almost peaceful.

"Truce?" he asked softly, his lips barely moving, his eyes still peering intently into hers.

She cut her gaze away and stared down at her slippers. "For now," she agreed, although she really didn't know why she did.

He reached out and played with a lock of her hair, wrapping it around his forefinger and tugging lightly once, before letting it unwind and drop. "Why couldn't you sleep?" he asked.

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Couldn't shut my brain off. Hazards of brilliancy and all." He laughed and the sound of it curled her toes. She took a steadying breath, trying to calm the flutters in her stomach. "How about you?"

"Same," he said, grinning.

She laughed with him this time, and then they both fell into another silence, this one more companionable and easy. The chirrup of frogs and cicadas, their last hurrah before the bite of winter, filled the spaces in between their thoughts.

After several minutes, Hermione turned to Zabini again. "Can I ask you a question, Zabini?"

"Depends," he said.

She bit her lip. "On what?" she asked.

"On what you have on underneath that cloak."

"On... what?" she asked, stunned.

His eyes narrowed with a speculative gleam. "You keep flashing something white," he gestured towards the gape in her cloak at her chest, "and it's driving me crazy."

Hermione, eyes rounded, hardly moved as he reached out and gripped the opening of her cloak. "Are you...?" she stopped and shoved his hands away. "It's just my nightgown, for Merlin's sake." She scowled at him.

He looked slightly pained. "Long or short?"

She glared at him mutely.

"Long or short, or I won't answer your question."

"Mid," she said shortly.

"Mid-thigh? Mid-length? Mid-what, exactly?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, disturbed but, admittedly, a bit flattered at his interest in her sleeping apparel. "Just mid, Zabini. That's all you get. Now, on to my question."

He frowned and slumped a little, but said, "All right. What is it?"

"Did you sleep with Ginny?"

"Did I...?" He trailed off, his eyes wide with surprise.

She hadn't been planning on asking him that exact question. She had actually been going for something vague and general about the nature of his relationship with Ginny, since the two still seemed so close. But now that she had blurted out that embarrassing little query, she found that she really, really wanted to know the answer. "Well?" she prompted testily.

"Sleep? As in shag?"

She huffed, "You know exactly what I mean, Zabini."

He smiled smugly, obviously over his shock. "Why do you want to know?"

Now that was a good question. Hermione really didn't know that herself. It shouldn't bother her, of course. Ginny and Zabini had been going out a good long while and it would be perfectly natural if they had. And it didn't bother her. Not really. No... not at all. She didn't care one wit whether Zabini had slept with Ginny.

"No," Zabini said, interrupting her musings.

Hermione blinked. "No, what?"

"No, I did not have sex with Ginny," he said slowly, spelling it out for her.

"Oh," she said softly. She didn't care to analyze the waves of relief washing over her. "Why not?"

"Why, indeed," Zabini grinned wolfishly. "She's a sexy piece, isn't she?"

Hermione glared at him, stifling a growl, and then stood up abruptly. "Good night, Zabini," she said with painful civility and turned away from him.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Granger, I was just joking!" he called after her.

She just shook her head and pulled open the massive front doors, slipping silently inside.

******

She wasn't sure if he realized she knew he was there. Not that he was making a huge show of hiding it from her, but clearly, since he'd been lurking around her for weeks without ever approaching, he was hiding something.

It unnerved her. She hated to admit that, but it did. He was always there, no matter how far away his position, and she could feel his eyes on her when he thought she wasn't looking. She'd thought about confronting him, just walking up to him and asking what the hell he thought he was doing, but that had 'bad idea' stamped all over it. Cornering a dragon was just as dangerous as waking one up with tickles. Worse, even. Best to let Malfoy come to her, on his own terms.

Ginny leaned forward, her head peeking out of her sun-warmed nook in between a cluster of boulders. She spotted him lounging by an old oak at the lake, flanked by Goyle and Crabbe, and she sent him a small grin and nod before slowly relaxing against the stone at her back again, just out of sight. He couldn't ignore that, now, could he?

But it seemed as though he was going to. A good half-hour passed and Ginny finally sighed and took out her Potions text, intending to immerse herself in formulas. What a way to spend my Saturday, she thought. Hermione will be so proud.

A shadow fell across her book almost as soon as she cracked it open and she let out a long-suffering sigh. He had impeccable timing.

"Couldn't get anyone to take you to Hogsmeade, Weasley?"

Ginny wasn't even going to dignify that with a response. That was, until he oh-so-helpfully suggested she try charming the gray dummy into a boyfriend again. She glared up at him, a growl at her lips. "Don't have anything better to do than pester me, do you Malfoy?" she clucked her tongue. "Such a shame."

"Feeling brave?" He crouched down next to her and cupped her chin with deceptive gentleness, his grin taunting and dangerous. "You don't want to mess with me, Weasley."

That was exactly the problem, Ginny acknowledged, her gaze fixed on his coldly amused eyes. She did want to mess with him. His hand felt just as warm and strong as she remembered and she felt an answering tug in her belly. Her eyes dropped to his curved, pale lips. She remembered those as well; soft and smooth, slanting over her own, moist at the crook of her neck and... Ginny almost groaned and she closed her eyes, inhaling much needed air.

When she opened them again, he was gazing at her thoughtfully and she hastily jerked her chin out of his grip.

The dynamic between them had changed, and she was well aware of it, even if he wasn't. There were still traces of fear and loathing, of course, but her glimpses of the man he would become softened her view of him, and peaked her curiosity. They both had the same arrogance, the same demanding presence and autocratic demeanor. But where had the pettiness gone? The indiscriminate cruelty? She wanted to map out his life - fix a point A and point B and trace the curves of the road in between the two. She swallowed hard. She wanted to get to know Malfoy. It was at once a horrifying and humbling thought. And, of course, there was the little problem that she'd promised to keep her distance from him.

"Why have you been following me?" she asked softly.

He surprised her by not protesting that point. "Because you're more than you let on, Weasley."

She almost laughed out loud. "Me?" She shook her head. "That's the last thing I'd ever expect you to say."

He gave an elegant shrug. "It's the last thing I'd ever want to say to a Weasley, but there you go."

"Just what do you think I am then, Malfoy?" she asked, genuinely curious. She could read his irritation in his scowl.

"Nothing good, I assure you," he replied scathingly.

She simply smiled, bright and wide, her chocolate eyes lighting up as if she knew something he had no clue about. And he strongly suspected that she did. He tamped down the answering anger deep inside him and attempted to remain in control.

"Nothing good?" she chuckled. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you, Malfoy."

He merely eyed her speculatively. "You've changed," he stated mildly.

"Of course," she smiled. "I change and grow everyday. It's called aging."

He leaned back against a stone, watching her silently. Ginny tried in vain to quell the nervousness bubbling up inside her at his distant and calculating glare. And then he shifted his position, bringing his thigh in contact with hers, his hip resting inches away, and his hand rose to lightly encircle her wrist. She bit her lip to keep from making a startled gasp.

"You should watch your mouth around me, Weasley," he said softly, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

She fought an involuntary shiver and searched her mind frantically for some sort of clever retort, but all that came out was, "Why?"

"Because I've figured out something today," he drawled, flicking his thumb over the skittering pulse at her wrist. "You want me."

Eyes round and incredulous, Ginny gave a weak laugh. "That's rubbish."

"I could prove it," he said, his mouth curved up in a wicked grin. His fingers loosened around her wrist, sliding up inside her shirtsleeve and then down again. He lifted his other hand to catch her chin, tipping her face up until her lips were a scant inch away from his. "I could," he whispered.

Ginny's eyes fluttered closed and her heart started pounding so hard she could hear it roaring in her ears. It didn't even occur to her to pull away from him, to protest, especially not when his hand left her wrist and started to lightly knead her thigh.

"I could," he repeated, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "But not just yet, I think."

He released her abruptly and stood up, her eyes popping open just in time to catch his smug smirk before he turned and walked away. Ginny sat, stunned, her fingers lightly pressed to her lips. This is not good, she thought. Not good at all.

******

"I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts..."

Head pounding, Hermione ran a hand over her eyes and gave a mental moan.

"Look at them all standing in a row. Fat ones, skinny ones, ones as big as--"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, the tips of her fingers massaging her temples.

Ron lifted his head from his parchment, quill poised in the air. "What?"

"Could you please stop singing?"

"Oh. Sorry," Ron said sheepishly, face pink. "Got caught up."

"What are you working on?" Hermione asked. Schoolwork didn't exactly inspire him, she knew.

"Erm..." Ron fidgeted. "Just a paper for Transfiguration."

Hermione's eyes widened, taking in the nearly two feet of parchment he'd already managed to fill. "Transfiguration? You mean the animagus assignment?" she asked. The paper wasn't due for another two weeks and Hermione herself hadn't even started it, although she'd been planning to that night. "What animal did you choose?" She leaned forward eagerly onto the library table and reached for his paper.

Ron flattened his hand over the parchment, refusing to let Hermione grab it, his face burning a deeper shade of red. "It's stupid," he said.

"I'm sure it's not, Ron," she said, tugging on the end of the paper. "Let me see." She managed to slip the paper out from under his hand and sent him a triumphant grin before looking it over. "A monkey?"

"I like monkeys," Ron groused. "And it's not just any monkey."

"No, not just any monkey; a golden spider monkey. Spider, Ron?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

Ron scowled. "It's just a name. Besides, I'm not half as scared of spiders as I used to be."

"Really?" Hermione looked skeptical.

Ron coughed and said hastily, "Oh, I forgot. I've got something for you."

Hermione arched a brow at the abrupt change in subject, but she let it go. "What?"

"It came at breakfast," he said, pulling out a small envelope. "Looked like a school owl." He shrugged and handed it over to her.

Hermione turned it around in her hands, taking in the unfamiliar handwriting, the late afternoon sun slanting across the parchment from the tall windows. "And you're just giving it to me now?"

"Sorry," he grimaced.

"Too busy singing about coconuts," she muttered, ripping open the envelope. She furrowed her brow at the short missive; one sentence in bold, black letters: The book belongs to Potter.

The book. What book? The only book she had other than her own was... Ginny's. What, exactly, had Ginny gotten herself into?

Curious, she piled up her books and left Ron to reabsorb himself into his essay, turning off into the first empty classroom she found outside the library. She walked to the window, the golden light spilling onto the small book as she pulled it out of her bag.

This was Harry's? She flipped through the pages, her eyes narrowed in thought. Dropping to the stone floor, she crossed her legs underneath her, placing the book open in her lap. She bent her head, studying the strange jumble of words, nearly at the point where she thought it was all gibberish. Would Harry know what they meant?

With the tip of her finger, she smoothed the red heading at the top of a random page. The letters shimmered and she blinked, surprised. She pressed harder, digging the oval nail of her index finger into the parchment, feeling a tingle vibrate through her entire hand.

And then, suddenly, she was falling; tumbling through colors and a rush of noise, and so surprised she could hardly make a sound, her heart lodged uncomfortably in her throat.

She landed on her back with a thud, knocking the wind out of her, and found herself blinking up into the sharp face of Draco Malfoy.

Well, she thought, this is interesting.