Twilight of the Dawn

Chapter Six

The only thing that kept Hermione from completely panicking was the realization that Malfoy wasn't looking at her. In fact, he didn't seem to notice her at all, spread-eagle on the ground in front of him.

Groaning, she sat up, gingerly rubbing the back of her head. She was outside, that much she could determine. The field was blanketed in a thick cover of bluebells, their petals oddly blurred and smudged with gray. The trees in the distance, unfamiliar and bright yellowish green, swayed in an exaggerated mass. There was a cool dampness to the breeze, but the sun was warm, and she rather thought it felt like spring. Which wasn't at all probable since it was already nearly November.

She shifted her attention back to Malfoy, who stood black-robed and straight-backed, his head bowed slightly, his hands clasped behind him. He seemed different somehow… harder. Yet it was perhaps the most unsettled she'd ever seen him.

His eyes... his eyes were frightening, bleak with cold fury.

A flock of geese passed above them, their cries unnaturally loud, echoing almost painfully in Hermione's head, and she watched Malfoy tip his face to the sky, golden from the low hanging sun. Hermione scrambled to her feet and rounded him cautiously. "Malfoy?" He didn't answer her and she paused in front of him, waving her hand across his face. "Malfoy?" she asked again, this time louder.

He gave her no reaction at all; no indication that he had heard her or that he could even see her. What the devil is going on? And then the winds shifted and a stench came rolling over her in waves. She gasped and gagged reflexively.

Malfoy had been standing at the top of a precipice and, in joining him there, Hermione could see the devastation in the valley below them. Bodies. That's what the smell was. Hundreds of bloodied corpses lying in a field of grass, dotting the landscape with obscene reds and blacks and the stiffened pallor of the dead.

"Oh God," Hermione cried, pressing a palm to her mouth. Nausea climbed up from her belly and she dropped to her knees, heaving her entire lunch out onto the ground. "Oh God," she whispered again, shuddering, her eyes clenched tightly shut. The gory scene flashed behind her eyelids. She'd never seen, or ever imagined, anything quite so horrific. It's not real, she told herself, desperately. It can't be real.

Distantly, she heard someone calling her name. She shook her head, refusing to open her eyes, keeping her breaths shallow.

"Hermione?" the voice said again, this time louder. "For Merlin's sake, Granger, are you alright?"

Hermione finally forced her eyelids to raise and found herself on her hands and knees on the cold stone floor of a classroom. A relieved breath rushed out of her in a whoosh and she eased back on her haunches, gazing up into Zabini's concerned eyes.

He dropped down next to her, catching her arm. "What happened?" he asked, his face pale with worry.

"I'm okay," she breathed. "Nothing happened." Nothing happened, she repeated to herself.

He shook her roughly. "Don't tell me nothing happened. I heard you scream. Scared nearly ten years off my life, Granger." He shook her again for emphasis. "Don't ever do that again," he growled.

"I didn't scream," she protested, trying to extract her arm from his tight hold.

"You bloody well did. Now, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. I... I must have fallen asleep," she said lamely. "Nightmares. Must have been," she continued, mostly to convince herself.

"Nightmares, eh?" He arched a skeptical brow.

"Yes. Please," she finally wriggled her arm out of his grip; "I need to... get to dinner."

"Dinner was over an hour ago, Granger," he said, his voice caught between worry and amusement. "I think you should go back to your common room."

An hour ago? She had been out that long? Dazed, she let Zabini help her to her feet, but balked when he grabbed her bag. "I'm fine, Zabini," she said, trying to tug her knapsack out of his hands.

Zabini held on tight. "You're not fine, Granger. Your hands are shaking."

She let go and shoved her hands behind her back, then groaned when she realized she'd let him take a firm grip on her bag again.

He smirked and shouldered the bag, then took hold of her upper arm and started coaxing her through the door and towards the staircase. "Don't fight me on this," he said. "I'd have followed you up to the Tower anyway."

"Why?" she asked, ascending the steps slowly, grateful for his steadying hand; though she'd never admit that to him.

He glanced down at her, his brows arched in disbelief. "Granger, you were passed out in an empty classroom, for what I can only assume was hours. You're lucky I haven't made you go straight to the Hospital Wing!"

"No," she shook her head briefly. "I mean, why do you care?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap and scowled at her.

"You don't exactly like me, Zabini," she needled, partly to take her mind off of what had happened in the classroom, and partly from pure curiosity.

"I don't exactly hate you, either," he snarled, tightening his hold on her and picking up his pace.

Hermione stumbled after him, her lips pressed together in a thoughtful frown. Had she hurt Zabini? He did seem a bit pissed off at what she'd implied, but she couldn't think of any reason why. Sure, they'd come to that temporary truce the other night. And he hadn't so much as whispered 'Mudblood' to her since that day on the train. Nor had he followed through with any sort of retaliation. "Zabini..." Hermione started, somewhat awkwardly.

"We're here," he said shortly, cutting her off. He handed her back her knapsack, gave her an inscrutable glare, then turned and stalked back down the stairs.

Hermione shook her head, too drained to dwell anymore on his strange behavior, and struggled through the portrait hole. Almost blindly, she made her way up to her dorm room, not in the mood to talk to any of her housemates.

She clutched the book to her chest as she dropped down onto her bed, her heart still pounding. And oddly, despite the still lingering images of horror, she had to fight the urge to open it again and press her finger to the little red marks.

******

"Weasley."

Startled, Ginny glanced up from her Potions essay to see Malfoy sink down into the seat across from her at the library table. Blaise, who'd entered with the blonde boy, dropped into the chair next to him, setting down his pile of books. Ginny sent her ex a questioning look, wondering why he'd brought Malfoy with him for their study session, but he only shrugged and took out some parchment and a quill.

She shifted her gaze back to Malfoy, her brow wrinkling in disconcertion as he calmly opened a book and started taking notes. Other than the initial nod of greeting, he was completely ignoring her presence. No sneers. No scathing remarks.

Biting her lip, she bent her head to her essay again, putting the finishing touches on it so she could show it to Blaise. He always knew exactly how to word things the way Professor Snape liked them worded.

"Blaise?" she queried softly. Both boys looked up at her and she flinched. "Erm..." she turned away from Malfoy and held out her paper to Blaise, "can you take a look at this for me?"

Blaise hesitated. Which was a strange occurrence unto itself, of course, since Blaise always looked over her Potions essays, but what was even stranger was that he shot Malfoy a brief glance before taking it from her with a smile. And Ginny could have sworn, sworn, she'd seen Malfoy give Blaise a barely perceptible nod before he would accept it.

The day got even odder as the afternoon wore on.

When Blaise had finished with her paper, Malfoy took it from him and made his own notes, then wordlessly handed it back to her. She snatched it out of his hand and her eyes roved over the paper, expecting it to be riddled with rude comments and insults, but there were only the helpful suggestions from Blaise and a few pointed remarks from Malfoy. None of it horribly insulting. Ginny was beginning to feel suspicious.

She scowled over at Blaise, but he only gave her a small smile and a wink. "Malfoy," she said slowly, tapping her quill on her parchment.

Malfoy glanced up from his book and narrowed his eyes. "I'd rather you not address me, Weasley. I'm trying to study and you are, as usual, highly annoying."

"Me? I haven't said a thing all afternoon," she exclaimed indignantly, placing her palms flat on the table.

He smirked. "Words, no. But you murmur intelligibly when you take notes, hum when you read, and have chewed three of your quills practically into masticated lumps of feathers. It makes me wonder what your mother feeds you." With that, he went back to his reading, content that he'd done a proper amount of emotional damage.

Ginny leant back in her seat, speechless. Not particularly because of his ridiculing, which had been relatively mild, but because he'd taken the time to notice these things about her. He'd actually been paying a goodly amount of attention to her the entire afternoon. She turned to Blaise, eyes round, but again he only shrugged and mouthed the word 'later.'

Later couldn't come soon enough. Malfoy's quiet presence, mere feet from her, was even more unnerving than his surreptitious stalking, and she found herself staring at her book blankly, listening to his low, even breaths. She should leave. She knew she should leave, but she couldn't bring herself to give him the satisfaction of driving her off.

She waited anxiously for Malfoy to finish his studying and leave. Only to her dismay, when he finally stopped working and closed his books, he gestured for Blaise to follow him.

"Blaise, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Malfoy scowled down at her and Blaise apologetically said, "In a bit, all right? I'll find you after dinner."

"What, are you his lapdog now?" Ginny bit out irritably.

Blaise bent down to brush his lips across her cheek. "Don't push it," he whispered in her ear. When he straightened, Ginny noticed Malfoy's eyes had notably darkened and a faint flush stained his cheeks.

He quickly snapped, "Let's go," and the two boys strode out of the library together, leaving Ginny more confused than before.

******

Ginny pounced on Blaise as soon as she saw him leave the Great Hall, grabbing his tie and pulling him into the empty Charms classroom.

"Spill," she said.

"Spill what?"

"Tell me what the hell is going on," she demanded.

"Actually," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "I was hoping you could tell me."

"You're the one who's suddenly all chummy with Malfoy," Ginny pointed out. "You don't even like the git."

"That's not true," Blaise protested mildly. "Slytherin brethren always stick together. Why, just last week, Malfoy and I helped garner House pride by locking Ernie Macmillan in the Quidditch broom shed with Pansy."

"What does that have to do with House pride?"

"Er, well, not much. But at least Pansy enjoyed it." He flashed her a dimpled smile.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "You're trying to distract me."

Blaise shrugged. "Possibly. Is it working?"

"No," she scowled. "Now explain why, exactly, you were acting so strangely in the library today. And why did you even let Malfoy come with you in the first place?"

He sighed. "Ah, Gin. You really don't want to know."

"Blaise," she said menacingly, her index finger jabbing into his chest. "Tell me."

"He asked to come."

"I see," she said slowly. "No, wait, I don't see at all. Since when have you lost the ability to say 'no'?"

"That's the thing, Ginny. I couldn't say no." He walked over to the Professor Flitwick's desk and dropped into the chair. "He's put a claim on you."

"A what?" Ginny asked, coming to stand in front of him.

"A claim. A brand," he elaborated, eyeing her nervously, taking in her clenched fists. "You're not going to hit me, are you, Gin?"

"A brand?" she exclaimed, incredulous.

"I'm getting the feeling that Gryffindors don't do this sort of thing. Am I right?"

"Blaise," Ginny said tightly. "This better not mean what I think it means."

Blaise scooted his chair back and stood up. "Now, Gin," he said, taking a step backwards.

"I want specifics, Blaise."

"Well, exactly, it means that he's logged you down in the Slytherin black book, and threatened me into erasing mine."

"Erasing your what?"

"Claim. On you."

Ginny lifted her hands and rubbed her fingers over her temples. "We haven't been going out for ages, Blaise. Why would you still have a claim on me? And don't think I'm not upset that you had one in the first place, but we'll chat about that later," she added menacingly.

"I was doing you a favor, you know," he said defensively, "Goyle's had his eye on you for a while. I just thought it prudent for him to think you're still taken."

"Oh, God," Ginny groaned. "If this wasn't so completely insulting and barbaric, I'd be laughing, I'm sure."

"It's not really an insult--"

"Oh, shut up, Blaise! This is just... disgusting. You realize this even sullies how I view our relationship, don't you?"

"I did warn you that you didn't want to know. I should get credit for that." He sat back down in the chair, still eyeing her warily. "Now it's your turn."

"My turn for what?"

"Spilling. You must know why Malfoy has this sudden interest in you."

"No, I don't," she said defiantly. Which was actually pretty much the truth. Since that day on the train he'd been eyeing her differently, but, really, she saw no reason for it. There was a reason, of course, for her to be looking at him differently, thanks to his older self. But this Malfoy, this present day Malfoy who apparently had a claim on her, hadn't so much as kissed her. First stalking and now this. And, really, all she'd ever done to him was look at his arm.

Noting her silence, Blaise stepped forward and put his arms around her. "Gin, it doesn't really mean anything, you know. It's merely a warning to other Slytherins to keep their distance."

"Marking his territory," Ginny mumbled, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Exactly. Why, Pansy's had your brother down since fourth year."

Ginny groaned. "Oh, I didn't want to hear that."

Blaise chuckled and let her go. "All it means is that I have to stay out of his way where you're concerned."

"So if he wants to crash our study date, you have to let him?" she asked, her tone disgruntled.

"Yes. But only," he said, waggling his brows a bit, "if he knows about it."

Ginny's eyes lit up. "Devious," she said.

"Well, I am a Slytherin." He smiled at her. "And I try to avoid making anything easy for Malfoy."