Twilight of the Dawn

Chapter Seven

It was gone.

The book was gone. Hermione had torn her room apart piece by piece, even went so far as to crawl under all the beds, accumulating a nasty layer of dust over her entire body in the process, but it had proved useless. She'd lost it.

How could she have been so stupid? She'd been studying in the library, and had taken it out of her bag to glance at in between subjects. And of course, because the gods were never smiling at her these days, she'd run into Zabini in the library stacks. The encounter had been incredibly stilted and awkward and embarrassing, given how their last meeting ended. She'd ended up fleeing the chamber, disturbed and disconcerted by his harsh glares, and she distinctly remembered shoving the book into her knapsack, along with her Advanced Potions text, on her way out the door.

Only now it was gone, and she had to face Ginny's wrath.

"What do you mean, it's gone?" Ginny asked shrilly, dismay constricting her throat.

Hermione worried the front of her robes. "Ginny, I'm sorry, but it's got to be somewhere."

Ginny snorted and started pacing the length of her friend's dorm room, both hands pressed to her chest. "Okay. Right," she took a deep breath and looked over at Hermione. "Where did you last have it?"

"I was leaving the library, and I could have sworn I put it in my bag. Zabini was the only one around--"

"Blaise!" Ginny broke in with a glad cry. "Oh, thank Merlin it was Blaise. He must have it," she said determinedly.

Hermione eyed Ginny curiously. "Who were you worried might have it, then?"

"Erm..." Ginny hedged.

"Ginny," Hermione said seriously, beckoning the younger girl over to where she was sitting on her bed. She waited until Ginny was settled warily beside her before asking softly, "You didn't steal the book from Malfoy, did you, Gin?"

"What?" Ginny gaped. "Why would you think that?"

Hermione fidgeted. "Well, it's just that, I think..." she took a deep breath. "I mean it looks as though the book is, well..." She had no intention of mentioning the incident in the empty classroom, but she felt she needed to warn Ginny of her suspicions about the contents.

"What's the matter, Hermione?" Ginny asked anxiously.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I think the book is Malfoy's diary, Gin."

Ginny blinked. "Huh," she said, dumbly. "Well, that would make sense, I suppose."

"Does it?" Hermione asked, feeling a bit lost.

She nodded her head thoughtfully, her fingers touching her lips.

"But Gin--"

"I didn't steal it, Hermione," Ginny assured her.

"Then how, pray tell me, did you come by Malfoy's diary?" Hermione asked briskly.

Ginny gave her a nervous smile. "Er... he gave it to me."

"He... He gave it to you? Why would he just give it to you? And why in Merlin's name is it all a jumbled mess?" Hermione ground out, frustrated.

Ginny shook her head apologetically. "Look, I'm not sure about much myself. But right now, I've got to go track down Blaise. I have to get that book back." She stood up and walked quickly to the door.

"Why does he want you to give it to Harry?"

Her hand poised on the doorknob, Ginny glanced back at Hermione. "How did you know?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"I got a note," Hermione said as she stood up to retrieve the small piece of parchment from her desk.

Ginny turned from the door, her hands on her hips. "You got a note? From Malfoy?"

Hermione arched a brow and handed Ginny the missive. "The note wasn't signed, but judging from your reaction, I've gotten it right, haven't I? Malfoy wants Harry to have the book?"

Giving a weary sigh, Ginny read over the note. "Yes, you're right. But it's a bit more complicated than it seems."

"Oh, and it seems all so clear to me now," she scoffed.

Ginny shoved the note back into Hermione's hands. "I can't explain, Hermione, but right now I've really got to find Blaise. Promise me if you find it you won't just hand it over to Harry, alright?"

Hermione looked disgruntled and opened her mouth to argue, but Ginny stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Please?" she pleaded.

"Fine," Hermione huffed, and then muttered, "Just don't expect me to keep this from him forever. And for the record, I find it a bit silly to keep it from him in the first place."

"I know. I'm sorry," Ginny gave her a distracted smile and a quick hug before rushing for the door, and out into the stairwell.

She started down towards the dungeons, but skulking about the Slytherin common room, waiting for Blaise to appear, was probably not the best idea. Nor, Ginny figured, would it prove particularly productive. So she abruptly changed directions and headed up to the West Tower, intending to borrow Pig. Which would have been a brilliant plan if she'd bothered to bring a slip of parchment with her.

She stopped on the landing outside the Owlery and leaned her forehead against the cool wooden door. A bit unsteady with panic, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and flattened her palms on the grainy surface. She needed to calm down - to focus. If she didn't find that book, Malfoy was going to kill her.

"Taken to snogging doors now, Weasley?"

Ginny tensed at the sound of his voice and clenched her eyes more tightly closed. She briefly considered ignoring him, hoping he'd leave her alone, but then his hand skimmed down her back in an almost soothing motion, settling on the base of her spine. She managed a shaky breath, and then turned slowly to face him.

It was dim in the stairwell, the sconces throwing warm light on Malfoy's face, softening his features. A curve tugged at the corner of his mouth and she found her imagination placing a genuine smile there, instead of the smirk he obviously intended. If he didn't open his mouth, she could almost imagine him as the other Malfoy; the Malfoy that had held her so tenderly while she slept. And then his hand came up to cup her face, his thumb flicking over her bottom lip, and she was stunned by the familiar gesture.

"Your lips are a bit chilled, Weasley," he said, stepping closer. He dipped his head down, slipping his hand over her cheek to brush her hair aside. "I could warm them up for you," he whispered in her ear.

His breath tickled the delicate shell and she shuddered, bringing her hands up to push him away. Only she ended up clutching the front of his robes as his lips covered hers.

It was a moment of insanity. Whatever possessed her to give in so easily? To allow him access to her mouth, and then, with no protest at all, kiss him back? Wound tight from stress, she suspected she merely snapped; but, whatever it was, she reveled in it. She arched against him, thrusting her fingers into his hair, sifting through the fine strands to tug at the short hairs at his nape. She groaned shamelessly into his mouth, sweeping her tongue between his parted lips.

Draco was momentarily stunned by her response. He hadn't expected her to open up to him with so little coaxing. He'd known that she desired him; he could see it in the rapid pulse at the base of her throat whenever he was near, in the high color on her cheekbones and the hitch of her breath. But still, he was thrown that she'd capitulated so swiftly.

However, he certainly wasn't going to complain. With a growl he pressed her roughly against the wooden door, slipping his mouth from hers to lick at the sweet curve of her neck, to nip lightly at her collarbone, and then he grasped her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head. His other hand slid inside her robes, skimming her left breast and then traveling down to grip her behind, rocking into the cradle of her thighs. Christ, she was making him crazy, his thoughts uncharacteristically scattered as his mouth returned to hers, swallowing her pants and sighing pleas, mindlessly wanting to strip her naked and bury himself deep, deep inside her. He wanted to hear her scream.

Ginny, for her part, desperately wanted to hike up her robes and wrap her legs around Malfoy's waist. She wanted him to press harder into her. She wanted to be naked, wanted him to be naked, and she was very nearly splintering into pieces right there, fully clothed.

Her thoughts had progressed much faster than their fingers and the touch of his hand on her bare thigh startled her back to reality. She'd strapped the dagger to her leg, and if he found it, she'd have no believable explanation for having a knife engraved with the Malfoy family crest in her possession.

She jerked her mouth away from his, but knew from experience that it wouldn't be enough to dissuade him. So she did the first thing that came to mind. She kicked him. Hard.

"Ow! Damn it, that hurt," Malfoy howled, his shin throbbing painfully.

Ginny wrenched herself from his arms and stood off to the side, breathing heavily, watching as Malfoy scowled and cursed under his breath, bent over and clutching his leg.

He glanced up and pinned her with blazing eyes. "That was completely uncalled for, Weasley," he snarled.

Ginny took another step away from him. "I disagree." She was getting them confused - as much as one person at two different points of time could be confused - and she was sick of it. "I want you to leave me alone, Malfoy," she said tersely. She wanted both of them to leave her alone.

For the third time in a space of five minutes, she'd shocked him. Not so much her words, because, honestly, 'leave me alone' wasn't a very daunting phrase. No, it was her overall tone. She was serious. She meant business. She wanted no part of him. Really, it made no sense. "You can't mean that," he said before he could stop himself, his voice bordering on incredulous. And then, she did a truly odd thing. She laughed - a bitter, cynical laugh that didn't suit her at all.

"Oh, I mean it, Malfoy. I've got enough on my mind without trying to fend you off."

"You were doing a very believable imitation of a leech a few minutes ago," he said through clenched teeth, his hands fisted at his sides.

"I'm not going to bother to deny that," she said calmly, "but it's not going to happen again."

"Oh, really?" he asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Yes," she said, her tone slightly mocking. "Really." Then she pivoted on her heel and stalked down the stairs.

Draco watched her retreat, for once unsure of what to do. He had half a mind to rush after her and show her exactly how wrong she was, but that seemed a little too much like begging to him; and Malfoy's never begged. So instead, after one last brooding glare in her direction, he slipped into the Owlery to send an owl out to his mother, the reason he'd been there in the first place.

His eagle owl, Earl, hooted and swooped down to Draco as he entered, nudging his beak into the top of his robes. His mother had spoiled the young owl relentlessly over the summer, and he was quite adamant about receiving treats, simply for being his beautifully preened self. Draco really couldn't argue with that logic, and always remembered to bring a few owl biscuits with him to the Owlery.

"Hullo, Earl," he said, chuckling as the eagle owl barely missed his fingers in its haste to snap a treat out of his hand. Draco quickly tied the letter, his latest bid to have an audience with his father, to the bird's leg, then said, "Off to Mum, now."

He watched the owl glide out of a narrow tower window and wondered briefly what his father would say about his little infatuation with the Weaslette. Draco hadn't told him about her strange behavior, and his suspicions that she knew about the ceremony that was to take place soon after his eighteenth birthday. He wasn't quite sure why he hadn't mentioned it to him, other than the fact that Lucius would probably blame him for it; being on the wrong side of Lucius Malfoy was never a pleasant experience.

It certainly, he told himself, had nothing to do with some sort of misplaced protective urge. He did not feel the least bit protective of the little Weasley. In fact, at the moment he was very, very angry with her. And he did not feel even an inkling of admiration for her, having managed to catch him off guard. Three times.

Not even an inkling of it.

******

Blaise didn't have the damn book. Or if he did have it, he was doing an admirable job of playing dumb. He also, Ginny noted, grew quite cold with her when she mentioned Hermione.

"I did not," he said, clearly offended, "take anything from Granger."

Ginny gave an exasperated sigh. "I wasn't accusing you of nicking anything, Blaise. I just wondered if you'd seen the book, and perhaps picked it up."

"No," he said, scowling.

"What's the matter with you today? You're more prickly than normal."

He sank down lower in his chair, lifting his book up in front of his face. "I'm just the right amount of prickly," he muttered.

Ginny snorted. "You're in a mood about something."

"I'm not in a mood," he ground out.

She eyed him skeptically across the library table. "Did something happen with Hermione?"

Blaise slammed his book shut and started shoving his things in his bag. "No."

"Then I'm guessing that's the problem."

"I have no problems with Granger. Nothing happened and will ever happen," he spat irritably.

"Exactly," Ginny grinned over at him. "And you're having a problem with that, aren't you?"

Blaise glowered over at her. "What do you mean, exactly? Are you saying that you think nothing's going to happen between Granger and me? Are you implying that she'll have nothing to do with me?"

Ginny patted his hand. "See, you're upset about it."

He groaned and dropped his head onto the table. "She's driving me crazy."

"Maybe she should team up with Malfoy, then," Ginny muttered dryly.

"I can't seem to figure her out," he went on, his voice muffled against the wood. "I've tried being nice to her, but she just thinks I have some sort of ulterior motive."

"Can you blame her?"

"Yes," he uttered miserably.

Ginny felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. She'd never seen him so distraught. Running a hand over the back of his head, she asked, "Do you want me to talk to her for you?"

"Oh, no," he said, whipping upright. "God, no. You stay out of it, Ginny. Don't you dare say a word to her, understand?"

Ginny leaned back in her chair, taken aback by his vehemence. "Why ever not?"

"I'm not twelve, Gin. I don't need you running off to ask Granger if she likes me. How pathetic would that be?"

"Well," she groused, "you're not exactly doing a stellar job of winning her over by yourself."

Blaise tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. "I've just had a small setback. Nothing that I can't handle," he assured her.

Ginny suppressed a smile at his bolstered resolve. "Of course, Blaise."

******

Harry heaved a sigh as he dropped his knapsack to the floor, sinking down wearily onto his bed. He was tired. Dead tired. Rubbing his forehead absently, he yawned wide and closed his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well, but that was nothing new. No, what was new was the unsettled flutterings in his stomach, and he wondered idly if he was coming down with something.

He leant back on his pillows and crossed an arm over his eyes, hoping to get a short nap in before dinner, but something hard was sticking into the middle of his back. Shifting with a groan, he groped underneath himself and pulled out a small, square book.

It was plain and worn, the deep brown vellum shiny in places where fingers had rubbed against it. Curious, he turned it over in his hands, running a palm over the smooth cover. As his fingers touched the edge of the parchment, a blinding blue light flashed and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain, simultaneously dropping the book and jerking upright. What the...?

Cracking his lids cautiously, he squinted at the book until he was sure it was no longer glowing. Even more curious now, he slowly flipped it open to the first page. Frowning at what appeared to be a mess of symbols and foreign scratches, he turned the parchment, leafing through the pages, and paused when he spotted a recognizable word.

Potter...

Harry's eyes widened.

Potter, if you are reading this, then at least something's gone right.

The scrawl was slanted, but strong, as if whoever wrote it did so with a determination and a will to write it down as quickly as possible. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry continued reading.

It began with Ginny Weasley's death. An insignificant event by itself, perhaps, had it not been for the young wizards and witches who followed after, all cut down by Muggles. It seems an impossible thing, doesn't it, Potter? Laughable even, that the ingrained lessons of hiding magic, refraining from performing magic in front of Muggles, would bring about such destruction. I admit, of course, that the attacks were arranged, the thugs bought and paid for by my father and his ilk, but that doesn't make it, or the aftermath, any less real.

You'd like to think it wouldn't make a difference, Potter, I know. But, ah, it was a coup for our side. Perhaps if Ginny hadn't been among the victims, it wouldn't have mattered as much to me. Wouldn't have mattered that my father preached to the Ministry about the threat of Muggles and the devastation they were capable of.

Didn't think the tides of war could turn so easily, could turn from mere propaganda, did you? Purebloods switched sides faster than you could say "Mudblood," fearing for their lives and eager for the illusion of protection the Dark Lord could provide. Wizards and witches practiced "attack first, ask questions later" with growing frequency. Muggle deaths skyrocketed, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

But Muggles weren't strictly targeted, and known Order members suddenly found themselves turned over into Death Eater hands by any and all; long term friends, casual acquaintances, even innocuous strangers. The hatred ran deep and no one was immune to the fear.

I was caught up in it myself for a time, burning with such rage and pain. No, you wouldn't understand, Potter, nor would I want you to. Understanding me isn't necessary for this. Just know that I couldn't do anything to save her before, and you can't do anything now. Targeted almost assuredly to keep me in line, she was set upon by Muggles in one of many dark alleys in London, Christmas time near the death of 1997.

It wouldn't matter on the whole. Ginny was the first, but by no means the last, and it was the number of attacks that drew the wrath, not the individual lives that were lost. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

Dumbledore was the first sacrifice to appease the masses, but it merely incited the Light to become just as ferocious as the Dark...

Harry swallowed down the bile that was steadily crawling up his throat, forcing himself to go on. He read through the entire thing twice, certain parts making his eyes prick as well as an incredulous rage to rise inside of him.

Broken by his sister's death, Ron Weasley became a twisted shell, a merciless executioner in the Dark Lord's army. If I ever found anything funny anymore, perhaps this would have made me laugh; the fact that I, as fucked up as I've always been, turned away from Voldemort with the pain of Ginny's death, whereas the Weasel embraced him, welcoming the destruction of a people that had cost him his little sister...

It couldn't ever happen. Harry wouldn't let it.

Seems impossible, doesn't it, that your little Granger used an unforgivable against her best mate to save Zabini? But the Weasel was maniacal then, and she knew it was the only way. Too bad she never recovered from the guilt...

He seemed to be taunting him from the pages, but it was half-hearted at best. Harry could feel the bitterness, the weariness that emanated from the writing.

Would it disgust you to know that I held you in my arms while you died? That I despaired that you were gone? You were, and always have been, the last hope, Potter. I hate you now more than I ever have before. You failed and doomed us all...

Harry felt hollow as he skimmed the words again, the very last page containing the signature, D. Malfoy. With a burning ache behind his eyes, he did something he hadn't done for nearly two years. He went to Dumbledore.

******

The Headmaster met him, unsurprised, at the bottom of his office stairs. His eyes flicked briefly to the book clutched in Harry's white-knuckled hands and he sighed. "Come on up, Harry," he said softly, beckoning him past the gargoyle and up the steps. As he seated himself behind his desk, he cleared his throat and gestured for Harry to take a chair as well.

"I see you've received the book. I assume you have read through it?" His voice was tired and his eyes were laced with faint anxiety.

Harry sat dry-eyed, his back ramrod straight. "Is it true?" he asked stiffly, his green eyes boring intently into Dumbledore's.

"It is true in the sense that all futures are true, but that doesn't mean it cannot be changed," he replied cryptically.

"But..." Harry's voice broke. "But, Ginny..."

"Has been set on a slightly different path, from what I can tell," the older wizard finished for him.

Harry, suddenly furious, slammed the book down on the Headmaster's desk. "He wants her to die! He wants Ron to... to go mad!" he shouted.

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "I don't believe so, no."

"Then why didn't he give details? It reads like a goddamn letter, instruction manual and timeline all in one; why the hell couldn't he--"

"Harry." Dumbledore interrupted his tirade as the Gryffindor jumped out of his seat. "Harry," he said again.

The boy turned his pain-filled eyes to him, his breathing ragged and his face red from fear and anger and disbelief.

"There are many casualties in war, Harry. One cannot save them all." He shook his head when he saw that Harry would argue. "Draco has done what he could for her. You must concentrate on the greater good."

"The greater good," Harry spat out bitterly. "It's always for the greater good. I can't afford to take anything personally, can I?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on his desk. After a pause, he said quietly, "What is to be will be; and what isn't to be, happens sometimes."

Harry stared at him blankly. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," the Headmaster continued, "that you change what you can and hope for the best." He'd come to the decision long ago that any negative repercussions that their interference might cause couldn't be near as bad as the bleak future that currently awaited them.

"Hope for the best," Harry echoed incredulously. "That's all you can say?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

With a snort of disgust, Harry turned towards the door.

"He loves her, you know."

The Headmaster's strained voice made him freeze. "What?" Harry asked, turning to face him again.

"Whether he acknowledges it now or not, he loves her. You'll have to trust that, trust him, and let it be enough."

"Trust Malfoy," Harry said dully.

"It's all we have."

Harry reached for the door, only to pause again in thought. Finally, he asked, "Where did the book come from?"

"Mr. Malfoy used a Time-Turner," Dumbledore replied.

"So he traveled back in time to leave this book with me?"

The Headmaster shook his head slightly. "I believe he entrusted it to Miss Weasley."

"Ginny?" Harry asked, his eyes widened in surprise. "Ginny's had... contact with him?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"But she didn't... she never mentioned..." Harry stuttered. "Does she know what it says?" he ended, horrified at the thought of her reading of her own death. It was bad enough that he'd had to read of his own.

"No one has read it but you," Dumbledore assured him.

"Why did she have to have it at all?" he demanded. "If not Malfoy himself, why couldn't you have given it to me?"

"It was Draco's choice," Dumbledore replied calmly. "And I agreed. I thought it would mean something more coming from someone you trusted." He gazed at Harry, his blue eyes touched with sadness and regret, but also acceptance. He knew the boy wouldn't counter his claim.

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something more, but shook his head and pressed his lips together in a frown. Wordlessly, he slipped out the door and down the stairs to the corridor.

All we have... Dumbledore's words echoed through his head as he numbly walked back to the Tower. Malfoy was all they had. He had to trust that what was contained in the book was the truth, was the reality they would live unless they forced it to change.

He had to talk to Hermione and Ron; had to reassure himself that they were still the friends he'd always loved. Ron would never... Harry shuddered, his body suddenly unnaturally cold. He'd need their help if he was to carry out the plan Malfoy had outlined, but he would never ever mention to them the events in the book that'd changed their lives so drastically. And if... if Ginny did die, he wouldn't let Ron go, too. He wouldn't.

Harry gave Hermione a weak smile as he stepped into the common room, and her eyes dropped immediately to the book still palmed in his hands.

"You found it," she breathed, rushing towards him.

"Do you know what this is?" Harry asked.

Hermione grimaced. "Ginny showed it to me, but I don't know what it is, exactly."

She reached out to take it from him and he hastily pressed it against his chest.

Dropping her hand, she arched a brow. "I could only translate the first part," she went on. "But listen, Harry. Ginny didn't want you to..." She trailed off, catching sight of the girl in question, framed by the archway at the bottom of the girl's dormitory stairs.

"You gave it to him," Ginny accused, her eyes wide as she shifted her gaze between Harry and Hermione.

"Ginny, I..." Hermione started, just as Harry shook his head vehemently and said, "She didn't."

But Ginny just glared at them and stalked from the room, slamming the portrait hole shut behind her.

Hermione gave Harry a sheepish smile. "She made me promise not to give it to you if I found it," she explained.

"I gathered that," he said dryly.

"Do you know what it is, then?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"It's... it's..." Harry choked out the words, his throat constricting in barely restrained panic. "It's a letter," he said, finally.

"A letter?" she asked in disbelief. "Seems a bit long for a letter."

"I--" Harry glanced desperately around the room, searching for something, anything, that he could use to change the subject.

Hermione gave an impatient oath and snatched the book out of his hands.

"Hermione, don't..."

Another flash of light, this one pure white, and Hermione squeaked and dropped the book. "What was that?" she asked, bending over to gingerly pick it up. When nothing further ominous happened, she opened it and flipped quickly through the pages, wondering what had caused the burst of magic.

Harry moved to look over her shoulder and saw that the words written on the parchment were no longer recognizable. No one can read it but me, he thought, relief coursing through his body. At least, not unless he was holding it, it seemed.

"This is a map," she said, leafing through the first few pages. "That much I could figure out. The rest, well," she tapped the parchment and eyed him warily, "I have some ideas."

******

Ginny wandered down the corridor, anger making her eyes sting. All that work, all that time, completely wasted. Harry had the book, and if Malfoy had been telling the truth about Harry knowing what was written on the pages, it wouldn't be long before he asked about the gold orb that was still hidden in her trunk.

Beyond that, though, she was hurt and not a little disappointed in Hermione for breaking her promise. It had meant something when the older girl had been willing to keep the book from Ron and Harry, simply because Ginny had asked her to. She'd thought, for a little while at least, that Hermione had considered her a good friend. Obviously, she'd been wrong.

Gazing around the hallway, she noticed that she'd walked nearly to the divination classroom. Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her about dinner, and with a resigned sigh she headed back down towards the Great Hall.

She made her way to the main staircase, and gave Malfoy an absent nod as he tried to block her path. She stepped blithely around him, ignoring his growl of, "Weasley." She'd meant what she had told him before. She didn't need him dogging her every move, and she wasn't going to let him intimidate her anymore.

He trailed after her, grabbing her wrist to stay her before she could descend the steps.

"Weasley, I'm..." His eyes darted around the empty corridor before settling back on her. "I'm... sorry."

Ginny nearly swallowed her tongue in shock. After a few moments she gathered her wits about her and bit out, "You're sorry? Do you even know what for?"

His fingers tightened around her hand, pressing the delicate bones together painfully, and he gave her a small, strained smile. "Look, I just think we... started off on the wrong foot."

"Wrong foot," she echoed quizzically. "What are you talking about? I've known you for six years."

"I'm trying to be pleasant, Weasley," Malfoy ground out through clenched teeth.

"Well, go be pleasant somewhere else."

Malfoy growled and tugged her forward, wrapping his other arm around her waist. "You're sorely trying my patience."

"Just because you have some sort of creepy claim on me, Malfoy," she said, struggling in his grip, "doesn't give you the right to manhandle me."

"Zabini's got a big mouth," Malfoy snapped, shifting his grasp and maneuvering her towards a darkened doorway.

Ginny kicked out and twisted her hand until he was forced to let her go or end up breaking her wrist. "He's my best friend, dumb arse," she said, glowering up at him and rubbing her rapidly bruising skin.

With his arm still banded around her waist, he pulled her past a half-opened door and into a small chamber, slamming it shut behind them and leaving them in sudden darkness.

Instantly freezing up, Ginny widened her eyes as far as they would go, searching for any ray of light in the dark. "Light your wand," she croaked out desperately.

"What?"

She felt her breaths grow shallow and a cold sweat broke out over her skin. "Light your fucking wand, Malfoy."

"Light your own damn wand," Malfoy countered.

Oh God, oh God, Oh God, Ginny chanted in her head, bringing her hands up to clutch at Malfoy's robes. His solid presence was somewhat reassuring, but it didn't completely stem the terror flowing over her, the black smoke of fear that fogged her brain and rendered her incapable of doing anything, least of all lighting her own wand. Twisting her fists in the fine cloth at the junctures between his shoulders and neck, she rasped, "Please, Malfoy."

Distantly, she heard him curse and felt him fumble in his pockets. And then his wand was glowing, glowing brightly, and her head fell forward against him in acute relief. She didn't realize she was hugging him until his own arms slipped around her back. She was hugging him tightly, as if her life depended on never letting him go.

Slowly, she extracted herself from his arms and murmured a small apology, wiping the dampness from her cheeks.

"You're afraid of the dark," he stated, his face expressionless.

"No," she replied softly. "I'm afraid of what lives in the dark." She turned from him and opened the door with still shaking fingers, walking out of the room without a backward glance.