Twilight of the Dawn

Chapter Eight

Ginny was pensively quiet during dinner and Harry found himself studying her face, wondering if her odd behavior over the course of the term had anything to do with the book and Malfoy. Her forehead was crinkled in thought, a frown pulling at her lips as she pushed her potatoes listlessly around her plate. He couldn't think of any other reason for her frequent bouts of detachment since... well, since the end of summer.

Ron nudged his arm. "What's up, Harry?" he asked, his mouth half-full. Swallowing, he grinned at him. "You've been staring off into space for a good ten minutes."

Harry shrugged. "Nothing," he mumbled, absently tucking into his food.

Hermione gave him a sharp glance. "What's going on, Harry?" she whispered, leaning forward against the table.

Harry sighed and set down his fork. "I'll explain everything to you tonight, all right?" He shifted his gaze from Hermione to Ron and back again. "To both of you."

Ron, only half-listening to Harry and Hermione's low voices, stuffed his last bit of pie in his mouth, eyes lighting up as a bowl of bread pudding appeared in front of him.

Harry's heart clenched. He couldn't reconcile the boy in front of him with the murderer he would supposedly become. Taking up his fork again, Harry forced himself to continue eating, even though it all tasted like paste in his mouth.

******

Ginny found herself casting sly glances at the Slytherins throughout the meal. Malfoy was quieter than normal, and she couldn't help but think he was deliberately ignoring the whole of Gryffindor table. A far cry from his usual behavior.

Could it be that he was finally taking her dictate seriously? That he was willing, once and for all, to leave her alone?

As if he'd felt her eyes upon him, his head snapped up and sought her out. She stifled a squeak as his eyes caught hers, the heat in them sending skeins of apprehension down her spine. Well, that answered that.

Forcing her eyes off of him, she flicked a look at Harry, his aura of fear making her more than a little wary. What had been in the book that caused him to look so forlorn?

"Gin?"

Ginny absently turned to her left where Dean was gazing at her with unusually serious eyes. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

She cocked her head to the side. "I'm fine."

He licked his lips nervously and went on, "'Cause Neville said..." He paused and shot a look over to where the round boy was sitting at the edge of the Hufflepuff table, engaged in a heated discussion with Hannah Abbott. "Neville said that he saw you and Malfoy," his voice dipped lower as he warily glanced at Ron, making sure the hot-tempered boy wasn't listening in, "snogging in the Owlery."

Oh. Well, that wasn't good, was it? She gave Dean a forced smile. "Don't worry. I've taken care of it."

"But you--"

"Don't worry, Dean," she said firmly.

Dean nodded slowly, and she could see the slight relief in his eyes at not being forced to discuss Malfoy with her, knowing that he'd done his duty by letting her know that they knew something was up, and that they'd be there if she needed them. Ginny was infinitely grateful that Neville had approached Dean with his information, rather than Seamus. Seamus, while not as volatile as her brother, wouldn't have let the subject drop so easily.

******

After dinner, Hermione sent Harry and Ron back to the Tower ahead of her, wanting to catch Ginny alone. She knew the girl was angry with her, and perhaps felt betrayed, and she wanted make sure she knew she hadn't done it on purpose. The whole thing really hadn't been her fault at all. Only when she glanced around for her friend, she saw that Ginny had managed to slip past her.

Sighing, she walked slowly from the hall and started up the steps, thinking over Harry's strange behavior that afternoon. He'd been... flustered. Worried. No, he'd been beyond worried and her curiosity about the book was piqued even further than it had been before.

She took a short detour by Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, knowing that it was one of Ginny's usual haunts. Merlin knew why she enjoyed talking with the whiny ghost. She wasn't there, though, and turning a corner to return to the main staircase, she spotted a large, haphazard pile of books by an unfamiliar room.

Books lying by themselves in a place where they shouldn't necessarily be - haphazardly piled books especially, that simply looked so lonely - instantly called forth Hermione's natural inquisitiveness. Biting her lip, she strode over to them and bent to pick up what looked to be a regular school Arithmancy text. She flipped it open and found the name Blaise Zabini elaborately embossed in black calligraphy on the inside cover. What were Zabini's books doing just laying in the hallway?

"Knew you couldn't resist a lost book," a voice drawled behind her.

Hermione whirled about, the book slipping from her fingers, just as his hand clamped over her shoulder and roughly steered her into the room. "Zabini, what...?" She trailed off as she gazed up at his face, so determined and so angry... or perhaps it was frustration that made his eyes glow and his jaw clench and twitch.

"I figure you owe me, Granger," he growled.

"Owe you?" she asked, embarrassed by the slight tremor in her voice. She took a deep breath and stepped backwards, holding her hands up in front of her chest.

He nodded and moved towards her, his body wound like a cat stalking its prey as she continued to retreat. "For the incident on the train... I never made you pay for that, did I?"

Her back hit the wall and a soft gasp escaped her lips. She tilted her head back and watched his slow progress towards her, his eyes now lit with a feral gleam, his mouth curved up in a wolfish parody of a grin. She could make a run for it, she was nearly diagonal from the door, but somehow she knew she wouldn't make it. His slow, calculated movements belied strong muscles that were just waiting to spring.

"And then the other day..." The dim light from the windows made his irises seem yellow and his teeth almost viciously sharp. He shook his head and clucked his tongue lightly. "Not even a thank you for walking you back to your tower. My, my, where were your manners?"

Hermione was only just beginning to realize how dangerous a position she was in, and groped blindly for her wand in the folds of her robes.

"Oh, no, Granger," he said, lifting his own wand to point at her. "You wouldn't want to do anything rash." Coming to a stop a scant foot from her, she had to lean the back of her head against the wall to see his face, now cast in the shadows that fell between the narrow windows. "Now, I'm going to need some honest answers from you, Granger." He reached out and cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to stay on his. "What happened in that empty classroom?"

She blinked. Was she just imagining the concern buried in his light eyes? "What?"

His touch turned gentle as his fingers skimmed down her throat to settle at the crook of her neck. "I want you to tell me exactly what happened," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

His eyes were drawing her in, now earnest and soft with something she couldn't quite name. She didn't realize she had lifted her hand to his face until her fingertips brushed against the slight stubble on his jaw. "Sorry," she muttered, snatching her hand back and not entirely sure what she was apologizing for.

He caught her hand before it fell to her side. "For what?" he asked, echoing her thoughts and pressing her open palm over his cheek.

She wasn't sure what happened to the moments in between, but suddenly his lips were on hers and they were incredibly soft and warm and she couldn't quite wrap her mind around the fact that this was Zabini and that he'd been threatening her mere seconds before.

"Hermione," he murmured against her lips, and in response she parted them slightly, letting out a breathy moan as he tentatively ran his tongue between their seam. And then he lifted his head slowly and pulled away. "Why did you pass out that day? What happened?"

"The book," she said without thinking. He'd obviously stunted her mental capacities with his kiss.

His thumb rubbed over the corner of her mouth and she leaned into his touch. "What book?" he asked softly, his lips hovering above the shell of her ear.

"Malfoy's."

******

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked Ginny as she stepped into the Tower.

"Haven't seen her," she replied shortly.

Harry took hold of her arm as she went to sweep past him. "Look, Gin, I don't know what you're thinking, but don't blame Hermione."

She gazed at him blankly.

"I mean," he fidgeted with the front of his robes, "she didn't give me the book. I found it."

"Found it?" she asked skeptically.

"Well, technically it was on my bed." He gave her a strained smile. "Hermione didn't do it though."

She nodded slowly and said, "All right." She looked at him expectantly, but when he didn't say anything else, she nodded again. "Okay, let me know."

Harry frowned, confused. Let her know... what, exactly? But before he could ask, she'd stalked away from him and up the girls' dormitory steps.

He watched her retreating form for a moment before moving to drop down in front of the hearth. Staring into the licking flames, much as he had been doing since dinner, Harry arrived at a few hard conclusions.

Hermione had told him that the first few pages of symbols formed a centaur map of a large section of Hogwarts' grounds. At the very back was a diagram of what Malfoy had termed a Pulse Orb. They were the only things he needed out of the book. He realized that aside from a few dates and a brief suggestion of a plan, the letter in between was merely an instrument to convince him of the truth and importance of the Orb.

He wouldn't, couldn't tell anyone of the future he'd read. He suspected that Dumbledore knew some, of course, but if anything was to get out...

Some would gain determination at the words, would gain strength and rebellion.

But others... He knew all too well that others would lose hope and direction, becoming mired in bleak acceptance of what was to come.

They couldn't afford to have anything Malfoy had written taken as prophecy. If it was, there was every chance that they would stumble across their own fate by trying desperately to prevent it.

He could see it so plainly with Ron. If he knew Ginny was at risk, he'd automatically turn overbearing and overprotective, and Ginny would lash out against it, rebelling and running headlong into danger just to spite him. And then the guilt and the anger would transform Ron into the monster Malfoy said he would become.

No, as much as it galled him, he'd have to... trust Malfoy in that respect and hope Ginny would survive.

And Dean. If Dean knew he'd one day be forced to watch the cold-blooded execution of Neville and Hannah because of Order intelligence he'd refused to relay, would he even bother with the war at all? Would any of them? Would they just surrender and admit defeat, giving their lives over without even a fight?

Dumbledore had been right, Harry thought bitterly, both determined and resigned. The greater good was all that should matter. But, to Harry's mind, it only mattered if they ultimately won.

They needed the Pulse Orb and they needed to get ready. Dumbledore's Army was going to take on a slightly different twist.

******

"Malfoy's?" Zabini asked, his tone sharp and surprised.

Hermione grimaced. "Oh, I should not have said that," she berated herself. "Definitely shouldn't have said that."

"I'm not quite sure I understand," he said. "Why would you have a book of Malfoy's, and why would that cause you to black out?"

"Oh." She realized she was wringing her hands and forced herself to stop. "I don't really understand it yet myself, Zabini," she said slowly, carefully watching the confusion that clouded his eyes. Squaring her shoulders, she came to a quick decision. The Kneazle was already out of the bag anyhow. "Do you trust me?"

Zabini's dark eyebrows rose incredulously. "Do I trust you?"

She nodded.

"Granger, you're the Gryffindor here," he pointed out.

Hermione, irritated, brushed off his slightly stereotypical comment. "But do you trust me? Really?"

He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, his face smooth and impassive. Finally, he said, "With my life."

She let out a deep breath. "All right, then. Let's go."

******

Zabini tugged her to a stop in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. "I'm not--"

"Come on," Hermione said impatiently, reaching for his hand and forcing him to fall in step with her, not bothering to try and keep the password from him.

"I think you've got this backwards, Granger," he argued, but stumbled into the Gryffindor common room after her.

"Harry?" Hermione called out as they neared the huge stone fireplace.

Harry blinked up at her and surprisingly only gave Zabini a cursory glance. "What's wrong?"

"Harry, it's time. I want to know what's going on. We want to know."

"Er... Hermione, I don't think this is really a case of me trusting you," Zabini interrupted, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

Hermione squeezed his hand and gave him a fleeting smile.

"Okay," Harry nodded. "But we might as well get Ginny and Ron, too."

******

Ginny knelt on the floor beside her trunk, the contents spilling over the edge, clothes and books spread around her. She used both hands to hold the Orb, rolling it between her palms and then tracing her fingers over the delicate, raised design.

After talking with Harry and the others, she realized she'd been behaving like a child. A spoiled, selfish child. She'd wanted to figure everything out on her own, acknowledged now that she'd wanted to be the savior; the one everyone praised in the end.

But it had never been hers to figure out.

Harry hadn't been forthcoming about the specifics of the book, and he'd probably be even less open at the next day's DA meeting they had hastily scheduled, but one thing had been glaringly obvious to Ginny.

In the grand scheme of things, Draco Malfoy was important. Integral. And Draco Malfoy was essential because of her.

It was because of her that he'd written the book, that he'd used the Time-Turner, and that he'd given Harry the means to destroy the Dark Lord and all that he represented.

Pocketing the Orb, she struggled to her feet and quickly stuffed her things back into the trunk.

Draco was going to be a Death Eater. In his mind, she knew, he probably already felt like one. At one point, she would have thought to save him from it, but that wasn't hers to do either.

She had only one agenda for Draco. Make him fall in love with her.