Nighthawk

Chapter Three

For some ungodly reason, Hermione found herself at the coffee shop the next morning, ordering both her and Zabini tall, regular coffees.

He'd Flooed her, actually Flooed her at the crack of dawn, just to tell her what he'd like her to pick up for him. And somehow, in her sleep-fuddled mind and pre-coffee mumbling, she'd agreed to do it!

She shook her head wryly and stepped up to the counter, noting that the boy at the register seemed rather pale and hollow-eyed. "Morning, Chris. Are you okay?" she asked with some concern.

His smile seemed strained. "Just tired. Had a bad night's sleep."

She eyed him critically. "You look like you could be getting sick."

"I'm fine," he said, and this time his smile was genuine. "Really."

Paying for the drinks, she gave him one last admonishment and headed to work. When she walked into the offices, Charlie was in the fire talking with Alice.

"Charlie," she said with a smile, placing the cups of coffee on Alice's desk and walking towards the hearth. "Did you get my owl, then?"

Charlie grinned at her, the green flames licking harmlessly around his head. "Hey, Hermione. Heard you acquired a new partner."

Hermione shot Alice a disgruntled frown, but the woman merely blinked at her, her eyes shining with overt innocence. "Yes," Hermione answered, turning back to Charlie. "He's been a big... help," she finished, realizing it was the truth. Although she preferred the term 'pain in the arse.'

"I'm glad," Charlie said. "You've needed... help... for a while now."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. If that wasn't a veiled allusion to her love life, she'd eat her wand.

The redhead cleared his throat, although it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and said, "I actually wanted to talk with you about a few things. Do you have any time to spare this afternoon?"

She glanced over at Alice, a questioning brow arched.

"I can try to switch your two thirty to three and give your one thirty to Ty," Alice answered swiftly.

"Great," Charlie replied. "It shouldn't take much more than an hour."

"Sounds good, Charlie. See you soon." Charlie's head disappeared from the green flames and Hermione rounded on Alice with a growl. Before she could confront her friend, however, Zabini's office door swung open, and the man leaned a hip into the doorjamb, a medium sized mottled, brown owl perched comfortably on his shoulder.

"What's that?" Hermione demanded.

"What's what?"

"That," she said, pointing to the owl.

He shifted to look at the round-eyed bird, which'd fluffed up considerably in indignation at Hermione's harsh glare. "Seems to be an owl," he drawled, turning his attention back to Hermione. "A young barn owl, to be exact."

Placing her hands on her hips, she tapped her foot impatiently. "You can't have an owl in here, Zabini."

"You've got a cat," he stated calmly, "and a Floo."

"A cat and a fireplace are hardly rare occurrences in the Muggle world," she explained, her hands clenching convulsively at her sides. "A pet owl is. You can't keep him at the office."

"Relax, Granger," Zabini said lightly. "I only needed him for a small errand." He stared at her a moment, his eyes glinting. "Are you always wound this tight?"

Alice giggled and Hermione shot her a silent snarl, which simply served to send the secretary into more peals of laughter. She was just digging herself a deeper hole, wasn't she? "That," she said, swerving back to look at Zabini, "is none of your business. But no, I'm not always wound tight."

His smirk turned wicked. "I wonder then, what it is about me that makes you so... tense."

"Absolutely nothing," she snapped, then forced herself to take a deep, calming breath, aware that Alice was following their exchange with all the attention of a shark sniffing for blood.

"If you're heading towards the Ministry, I need you to pick up a few files from Creevey," he suddenly said.

His abrupt change in gears nearly made her head spin. She blinked. "Ever heard of asking nicely, Zabini?" she finally managed.

He shrugged and stepped up to Alice's desk, snagging one of the paper cups of coffee and taking a large sip. "You're going there anyway. It wouldn't do any good for me to trudge out there, too. Besides," he smirked, "they're your clients, aren't they?"

Hermione scowled at him, but knew she couldn't argue with his logic.

"Right," he nodded smugly, then said, "thanks for the coffee," and turned to step back into his office, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Humph." Hermione glared at the door, her fists clenched on her hips.

Alice looked up from her computer. "Did you say something?"

Without answering, Hermione stalked over to Zabini's door and shoved it open, slamming it closed behind her. He was safely across the room, seated behind his desk, and she took a steadying breath before hissing, "I don't appreciate what you just did, Zabini."

Cocking his head slightly, he leant back in his chair and rested his elbows on the arms. "Don't appreciate what?"

"That," she cried, pointing towards the closed door and barely refraining from stamping her foot. "You were behaving unprofessionally in front of my secretary."

He arched a dark brow. "Unprofessionally? Because I asked you to pick up a file from Creevey?"

Hermione growled. "Not that, you git. The remark about my... tenseness." The minute the words left her mouth, she knew they were a mistake. His face lit up in dark amusement and he pushed back from the desk, rising slowly out of his chair.

Involuntarily, she took a step back and ended up pressed against the doorframe. Her hands started to tremble as he strode towards her with a lazy sort of natural grace and she shoved them behind her, clasping them to the small of her back.

With deliberate slowness, he placed his palms against the wall on either side of her face, catching a few strands of her curly hair under his thumbs.

Hermione swallowed, her throat dry as she gazed up into his impossibly light eyes, the humor reflecting in them sharp and wicked.

"Feeling a bit tense?" he asked softly.

"No," she lied, aware that if she froze up any more she'd be in danger of snapping in half. Why, in Merlin's name, couldn't she act like a normal human being around him? Her breath hitched as he bent his elbows, his face hovering close above hers.

One lip quirked up. "Good to know."

Zabini was clearly pure evil.

She closed her eyes, hoping to block out the sexy tilt of his lips, the smooth dark length of his throat, the jet-black curls that fell nearly to his eyes and emphasized his thick lashes. She found, however, that it only intensified her reaction, letting her imagination run wild, picturing him tousled and aroused and spread-eagle on her white cotton sheets. Naked.

She nearly started hyperventilating and her eyes popped open, desperate to latch back onto reality. His mouth was moving, and she watched in fascination as his lips opened and closed, catching glimpses of his tongue as it flicked off his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Belatedly, she realized he was talking to her, yet she couldn't seem to hear a word over the rush of blood roaring in her ears.

She shook her head. "What?" she rasped

He gave her an odd glance, then said, "Never mind, Granger," and pushed himself off the wall with the flat of his hands, turning to walk back to his desk.

Hermione was slightly confused as to what had just happened. However, she was smart enough not to bring the topic back around to her tenseness, and vowed to never again speak to Zabini about anything other than business.

"Anything else you wanted?"

Her head whipped up to stare wide-eyed over at Zabini, who was tapping a quill on his ink blotter and looking slightly annoyed. She blushed and very nearly stammered, "No," before opening the door and striding out, head bowed. God, she was a complete blithering moron.

She echoed the sentiment out loud as she approached Alice's desk.

The blonde secretary glanced at her in surprise. "Why would you say that?"

"I just can't function around him," she bit out, frustrated at her lack of focus where Zabini was concerned. Concentrating, focusing, cool-headedness in the face of danger, calculating and distant analysis... those were her things. It's what she did; what she was good at... what had made her essential in the war, what had shaped her into something beyond a mindless Auror, what helped her excel at anything she put her mind to. And if she couldn't count on those simple truths anymore, what could she count on?

"Hermione," Alice placed a placating hand on her arm, "it's not necessarily a bad thing."

"Not...?" Hermione stared at the woman, aghast. "Not bad? How in the world can this not be bad?"

Her friend gave her a small, sly smile. "Once you've shagged him, you'll be fine."

Hermione sputtered incoherently, feeling her face heat up. "I can't believe you just said that," she said, shocked and, admittedly, more than a little amused.

Alice shrugged. "You dated that stiff bloke, Perry--"

"Percy," Hermione automatically corrected.

"Percy," Alice amended graciously. "You dated that trout-faced loser--"

"He's my best friend's brother, you twit."

Alice lifted a hand. "I stand by my words," she said resolutely. "My point is you dated him for nearly two years, right? Did he ever make you sweat?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Not in the way you mean."

The blonde narrowed her eyes in thought and brought her hands up, stretching her arms and making a frame with her fingers. "Now, picture it as if he had." She paused a beat. "Wouldn't it have been ten times better?"

******

Hermione tried her very best to avoid Zabini for the rest of the morning, Alice's words and the images they spawned popping into her head at every inopportune moment. Sex with Zabini would be fantastic. Alice knew it. She knew it. Hell, Crookshanks probably even knew it. The important thing, though, was that she wouldn't ever let it happen.

She knew Zabini. He'd use her up and toss her out. Hours and hours of hot, sweaty... well... it wasn't worth it. She wasn't able to have intimate relations without the strings. It wouldn't be pure fun for her; she'd throw her heart into it, and he wouldn't give a damn.

That afternoon, she left early for the Ministry and stopped by Colin's office first, since it was two floors below Charlie's. The door was slightly ajar, and she knocked softly, pushing it open further and peering inside. "Colin?"

"I'll be right out, Hermione," Colin called from a side room.

Smiling, she stepped past the door and took a seat in front of his desk. His office was a mess, the walls completely plastered with photos, both Muggle and Wizard. There were a few of Harry, looking slightly put out by having his picture taken, but flashing Hermione an occasional wide smile.

His desk was piled high with papers and folders, and her fingers just itched to sift through the stacks, bringing them to some semblance of order. Spotting the Nighthawk logo on one of the top files, she reached forward automatically and tugged it towards her, accidentally knocking a few other manila folders onto the floor.

Swearing under her breath, she quickly shifted out of her chair and knelt down, gathering the slips of parchment and photos that had scattered across the square, braided area rug. Opening a folder, she shoved them inside, only to pause as her eyes took in the contents.

Pictures. There were dozens of pictures. Of her. Getting coffee, walking to the deli, laughing with Seamus, sitting alone in the park. What the...? Why would Colin have a file, she glanced at the name tab, clearly marked 'Hermione Granger'?

Her mind instantly snapped to the letters she'd received over the past month, but it didn't make any sense. Not only had she known Colin for what seemed like forever, he just didn't seem like the threatening stalker type. He would have had to follow her, closely, for days on end to get that many pictures of her.

She heard the soft snick of a doorknob turning and scrambled to her feet, shoving the files she'd picked up onto the mess on his desk, hoping he wouldn't notice anything amiss. When Colin stepped into the room, a ready and honest smile at his lips - that seemed to both confirm Hermione's initial belief of his innocuousness, and confuse her even more with his apparent obsession in her life - she held up the Nighthawk folder.

"Think I found it," she said.

He nodded. "Yep, that's it. Tell Zabini I'll have more for him next week, would you?" He chuckled. "I still can't believe you're letting him work with you."

"There was a teensy bit of blackmail involved," she muttered dryly. "Thanks for the photos. Now I'm off to see Charlie."

"Anything important?" he asked, head cocked to the side inquisitively.

Hermione hesitated. "Might need to clean up a mess," she finally said. "A case of a Muggle knowing too much."

"Ah," Colin nodded. "Well, owl me if anything new comes in before Monday. I'll probably be over at your offices sometime that afternoon."

"Great," she said, forcing a smile before turning towards the door. "Thanks again for these." She waved the folder, and then slipped out the door, shutting it behind her with a sigh.

No matter how many photos he took of her, Colin just didn't seem the type to send anonymous vaguely threatening missives.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the lifts, hoping Charlie didn't have any disturbing revelations for her. She didn't think she could handle two in one day.

******

"First off," Charlie started as he unceremoniously dropped down into his desk chair, "there's not much we can do about Bufford."

Hermione settled into a seat in front of him. "Okay."

"We'll keep an eye on him, of course, but unless we can find Abbott and determine if she really is married to him or not, my hands are tied." He spread his hands out, palms up, and shrugged his shoulders. "Legally, it's her call as to whether we can swipe his memory. If," he added, "she's his wife."

Hermione nodded and crossed her legs. "One thing I can try to find out, though, is if he knows that Nighthawk is a Wizarding establishment."

"When, and if, everything comes together, we can decide on a course of action." He grinned a bit wolfishly. "Damage control is my favorite part of the job."

"Well," Hermione said, "you can't have wanted me to come here just to tell me about Bufford. Is something wrong?"

"Not precisely," he said slowly, tapping his wand on his ink blotter, causing tiny blue sparks to frizzle and sputter out quickly in the air. His blue eyes turned serious as they looked into hers. "You're all right?"

"Yes," Hermione said, surprised by the concern in his gaze. "Why?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders, leaning back into his chair. "Just with Smith out and all..." He trailed off, his eyes still searching.

"I'm fine, Charlie. Shouldn't you be more worried about Harry?"

"I am. We all are. But it was never just about Harry." His brow furrowed. "You knew that, right?"

"Well, of course. It was about all three of us; Ron, Harry and me." She hopped out of her seat and paced over to the window. "Why was he let out, Charlie?" she asked softly, her back facing him. She heard the rustle of his robes as he got up, moving to stand next to her in the beams of afternoon sunlight that spilled through the window pane.

"We couldn't hold him anymore," he said, his voice equally soft. "His family and friends petitioned for an appeal and, well... we had no solid proof beyond your words that he actually did anything. And even that wasn't enough to lock him up in Azkaban. We're lucky the appeal took as long as it did to go through."

"If you'd seen his eyes..." she murmured, lost in memories of a nineteen-year-old Smith, the resentment and hatred that had been etched so plainly on his face. It wasn't so much that they hadn't seen evil before - they'd fought the very embodiment of it hadn't they? But... but Smith hadn't been evil, not in the strictest sense, at least. He'd fought with them, alongside them, saved them. And in his corner of the world, that had made them his. Wholly. And it was truly a frightening thing to belong to someone who'd lost grip with reality.

A hand clasped onto her shoulder and she nearly jumped, so deep in disturbing thoughts.

"Sorry," Charlie said. "You seemed a million miles away for a moment."

Hermione glanced at him sideways and give him a shaky smile. "I was."

"Promise me, Hermione, that you'll tell me or Harry if Smith tries to contact you."

"I will. Of course I will," she said, slightly indignant that he'd think she wouldn't. And then her thoughts drifted to the damn notes again, and this time she wondered if they weren't from Smith. But why be so cryptic, then? He'd never been sly about his threats before. "Charlie," she turned fully to look at him, "I've gotten some... letters."

"Letters?"

She nodded. "Anonymous notes, really."

He grabbed hold of her shoulders. "Something threatening?" At her hesitant nod, he went on, "How many have you gotten?"

"Ten. They started a month ago, but then they'd stopped and I really didn't think they were anything, Charlie," she rushed out when he gazed sternly down at her, his mouth parted on what surely was a reprimand. "It's nothing serious. At least, I don't think so… but I figure you should look them over anyway."

Charlie nodded gravely. "Okay. Well, you've told me now, so that's good. Nothing's happened yet." He seemed to be thinking out loud to himself, his head slightly bent. "We'll have to analyze the paper, the script, the ink..." He whipped his head up. "Do you have any of them on you?"

"No."

"I want you to bring them over as soon as possible." He glanced at his watch. "It's nearly three, you should get going. Please be careful." His gaze was close to pleading.

She rolled her eyes slightly. "I'm not a child, Charlie."

"No, a child would have sensed the danger in this and reported it immediately."

"A child," Hermione countered archly, "wouldn't have been able to understand the notes in the first place, and would have simply thrown them out. They're cryptic."

"Doesn't matter," he said, ushering her out the door. "I want to see them. All of them."

When she got back to Nighthawk, she closed herself up in her office and pulled the notes out of her top drawer, spreading them over her desk. First, she lined them up in the order in which she'd received them, hoping they'd make some sort of sense strung together.

and the heart will pause, then beat again.

Death will

The living are the waiting dead,

from the confines of the mortal plane.

rip the light from their eyes,

independently from the Soul.

the dead mere animated shadows.

The Soul is fragile and easily torn

The body is a vessel, the skin breathes

The mortal frame will break

The half-phrases were definitely ominous. She hadn't wanted to look at them so plainly before; shuffled close together, they seemed more real, more dangerous than they had by themselves. They didn't, however, make any sense in their current order.

She studied them intently, every once and a while moving around a slip of paper, using the punctuation provided as a guide.

The door burst open and Zabini strode in, hands thrust in his pockets. "Did you--" He broke off, watching as Hermione scrambled to gather up the slips of parchment spread over her desk. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, opening a drawer and stuffing the papers inside.

He stood in front of her desk and eyed her skeptically. "Did you get the file from Creevey?" he asked.

"Yes," she bent over her briefcase and riffled through the contents. "He said he'd..." she lifted her gaze to Zabini, his expression dark as he fingered a small note.

He shifted his eyes to hers. "Why do you have this?" he nearly snarled.

"I'm... researching a case. It's just a research note."

"General rule of thumb, Granger: anything that starts on about ripping light from eyes? Not good." He chucked the parchment at her. "Don't mess with something you don't understand."

She eyed him quizzically. "That's the whole point of research, Zabini."

"You don't need to research dark magic for this job. It's not worth it," he replied harshly.

Dark magic? She hadn't thought of it that way before, but it definitely made sense. "Not worth what?"

"The price."

******

Zabini's words still echoed with her as she took her place at the bar in the Whiskey Pocket that night. The problem with his advice, however, was that he had no idea why she was studying the words. She was already mired in whatever dark magic was at work. Now, she just had to figure her way out of it.

Wanting to keep a clear mind, she asked for a glass of ice water after finishing her customary goblet of white wine and sipped it thoughtfully. She'd been late to the bar herself, and was beginning to suspect that Seamus wasn't going to show. It wasn't that rare of an occurrence, though, and he'd most likely send her an apologetic owl later that night or the next day.

Five minutes later, however, a body slid onto the stool next to hers and she turned to grin at Seamus. Only it wasn't Seamus, and her smile died a swift death at the sight of Zabini resting his elbows on the bar and gazing at her in amusement.

Unconsciously, she scooted her stool away from him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, thanking Merlin that her voice didn't break.

"Meeting Millie," he replied. "Been stood up?"

Hermione fidgeted under his persistent gaze. "You'd have to have been here a while to think that. I could ask the same of you, then."

He shrugged and hooked a thumb over to a corner table. "Millie's here. I just thought I'd invite you to join us."

The gleam in his eyes was slightly challenging, and Hermione was tempted to take him up on it. Glancing past his shoulder, however, she spotted the scowling dark-haired woman Seamus had pointed out the month before. She didn't seem the least bit inclined to have Hermione join them. "Better not. You'd scare off Neville if he happened to show up."

His brows rose. "You're meeting Longbottom?"

She managed to only take a small amount of offence at that. "Usually it's just Seamus," she offered, taking a sip of her water.

"Two men at once. I'm impressed, Granger."

The conversation was rather pointless and Hermione was beginning to become suspicious. He seemed to be... she cocked her head and took another sip of water... almost in a state of forced casualness, with anticipation rippling just under the surface. "What do you want?" she asked sharply, and then lifted a hand to her forehead as a wave of dizziness passed over her.

"Granger, are you all right?"

He wrapped his hand around her forearm, holding her in place... or perhaps he was holding her upright. Her mind had suddenly and swiftly become rather fuzzy. "Zabini," she murmured. "Wha...?"

"Had a bit too much to drink?" His chuckle seemed hollow and tinny to her ears.

"Bullshit," she managed to spit out. "I was... drinkin' water, you great... oaf..." And then everything went black.

******

Someone was shaking her, strong fingers gripping her upper arms.

"Hermione? Hermione?"

Her eyelids cracked open and she saw Zabini's light eyes peering down at her, his face slightly blurry around the edges, dark shadows moving restlessly behind him.

"Hermione," he said firmly. "This is important. Listen to me."

Feeling heavy, her eyes started drifting closed and he shook her roughly again. She groaned.

"Granger, wake up." His voice was louder, punctuated with a slight slapping on her cheek. "Do you remember what you were researching today? The dark magic?"

"Wasna... research," she said slowly, her tongue feeling dry and thick, sticking to the roof of her mouth. "Puzzle."

"A puzzle? Hermione, what puzzle?"

Puzzle, puzzle... "Letters," she rasped, letting her lids fall on a yawn.

"Hermione, come on, baby. Stay awake for me."

Keeping her eyes closed, imagining his handsome face hovering over her, she lifted her hand blindly and felt it fall against the side of his throat and slide upward. "Pretty," she slurred.

He clasped her hand and pulled it away from his face. "Concentrate, Hermione."

"No." She dropped her lips into a sloppy pout. "Don' wanna."

"Who sent you the letters?"

"Who?" she echoed. "Wha...?"

"For fuck's sake, Blaise," a voice she didn't recognize said. "How much did you give her?"

"Not much, but she's a little mite, isn't she?" Another stranger. Hermione tried her very best to concentrate, to focus. Something wasn't right.

"Compared to you, Millie?" Someone chuckled.

That one. She recognized that one. "Colin?"

"Shit." Zabini yanked her upright and her head started to spin. "Shut up, will you? We can't risk her remembering."

Remembering what?

"Letters, Granger," Zabini growled. "Who were the letters from? About ripping light from eyes?"

Light. Death. Death... "Death will rip the light from their eyes," she hissed, the words dancing off her tongue of their own accord, "and Death will restore it."

"Jesus God, that isn't what I think it is, is it?"

"We've got to find the rest of them..."

Distantly, she heard their voices arguing, almost at a fevered pitch, before her mind became blissfully blank.