Nighthawk

Chapter Four

Rays of sun poured in from the windows and Hermione, eyes pressed tightly closed, grimaced, the light beyond her eyelids sending a blinding shaft of pain into her skull. She rarely contracted hangovers, mostly due to spells performed before she went to bed, but also because she hardly ever drank enough to warrant one. And last night...

Well, last night, she'd ordered wine while waiting for Seamus, and then... and then... nothing. She couldn't remember a thing after that. Had Seamus or Neville even shown up?

Eyes still closed, she groped for her wand on the bedside table and performed a minor Healing Charm to take away the worst of the pain. She was too far-gone to dissipate all the aftereffects completely. After a shower, though, she felt distinctly more human.

When she reached the kitchen, a large brown owl was sitting on her counter and Hermione instantly recognized it as a Hogwarts' bird. Taking the missive, she gave the friendly owl a biscuit and watched him disappear back out the small round owl door they'd had placed above the bowed window.

The note was from Seamus, apologizing for not showing up the night before, claiming that Neville had roped him into helping harvest a new strain of thyme...

...which apparently I'm highly allergic to, since I spent the better part of the day in the infirmary, my hands greatly resembling distorted yellow squashes. Hope you didn't wait around too late for me. See you next week (promise!)

~ Seamus

PS: Neville sends his love and undying devotion and if I don't kill him for this, he just might show up next Wednesday as well.

Hermione chuckled and tossed the parchment in the trash. So, Seamus hadn't been there, nor Neville. And suddenly she remembered... Oh, Merlin, she remembered Zabini. She'd gotten blind drunk with Zabini. Was her ability to humiliate herself in front of the man limitless?

She pressed a hand to her forehead. Oh, Lord, what if they'd done something? What if they hadn't done something? Was her appeal so low that even a completely sotted man hesitated to take advantage of her?

How on earth was she going to face Zabini at the office?

She forced herself to take a deep, cleansing breath, leaning heavily against the counter. Never before had she suspected she was prone to hysterics of any kind. It was quite pathetic.

Alice had, as usual, already left for the office, the remnants of her hasty breakfast piled in the sink. The secretary was an early riser who disdained caffeine - Hermione doubted her sanity in that respect - and liked to get in before either partner, organizing the day's schedule in relative peace and quiet.

Hermione glanced once more around the empty kitchen before squaring her shoulders resolutely. Well, she certainly wasn't going to allow herself to avoid work; Alice would never let her live it down. She straightened her spine, pulling herself up to her full five foot six height, and strode purposefully for the door.

Coffee. She was badly in need of some perfectly brewed, steaming hot coffee.

She was not particularly surprised to find that Chris wasn't manning the counter at the coffee shop, since he'd looked so worn down the day before. She gave the replacement coffee girl a weak smile and ordered her usual, impulsively ordering Zabini's drink as well.

It was as much a peace offering as anything.

Zabini didn't even give her a second glance as she placed the tall paper cup on his desk. Murmuring a preoccupied, "Thanks," he took a sip of the bitter brew and then continued typing furiously at his keyboard.

Feeling that her initial effort to dispel any residual awkwardness between them was a success, she closed herself up in her office for the rest of the morning.

Around eleven, her intercom buzzed. "Yes?"

"Anything on Bufford's car yet?" Zabini's voice crackled over the line.

"Nothing from the Police. Had a few dead ends from neighbors."

"All right," he said shortly.

Hermione stared at the intercom. Okay, perhaps he was still a bit disgusted by her behavior the night before. Whatever that happened to have been. Frowning in thought, she went back to organizing her notes from a few cases that had required quite a bit of surveillance.

She buzzed Alice before remembering she'd already left for lunch and then wandered out to check the secretary's planner for the dates Colin was scheduled to stop by. Hermione was bent over Alice's desk when the outer office door banged open and a whirlwind in the form of a five-year-old boy came careening into the room, laughing gaily and running headlong into her legs. Arms locked about her knees, he greeted her with a muffled, "Auntie," having long ago given up trying to pronounce any form of 'Hermione.'

His mother, harried and out of breath, appeared in the doorway, one hand pressed to a stitch in her side. "Dante Alexander, what have I told you about running ahead of Mommy?"

Hermione could feel the strawberry blond giggle against her leg, unrepentant and, if she wasn't mistaken, on the cusp of a sugar high.

Ginny gave an exasperated sigh and dropped down onto a chair in the sparsely furnished waiting room.

"You look exhausted," Hermione observed.

The younger woman grimaced. "Just had a delightful outing with Mum and Bill's twins. Half his body is now pure sugar." She smiled. "Thought I'd let him wear himself out on you."

Hermione gave Ginny a searching glance as she lowered herself into Alice's chair and pulled Dante onto her lap. He wiggled in protest and squirmed his way down, flashing a dimpled smile before taking off to no doubt scour the office for the ever-present Crookshanks. One look at the boy's impish smile and delicate, pointed features and anyone who'd known his father would have declared him the spitting image. Only the wide chocolate eyes and reddish tint to his hair hinted at Weasley genes.

Smiling fondly as the child squealed in delight at finding the cat curled up in a corner, she turned to face Ginny again. "Why are you really here?"

Ginny ran a hand through her shoulder length hair. "Mum's been after me to give Malcolm an answer," she said simply.

"And...?" Hermione prompted. Ginny and her son had been living with Malcolm Baddock for nearly a year, and she knew he'd asked her to marry him at least twice with inconclusive results.

"And," she slumped down further in the chair, "I can't do it."

Hermione frowned. "Can't give him an answer?"

"No, I can't say yes," she said dejectedly.

"Oh," Hermione said softly. "Because of..." She shifted her gaze to Dante, currently crawling across the carpet in pursuit of Crookshanks, who was stalking, stiff-legged and bottlebrush tail twitching, towards her open office door.

Sighing, she got up and walked to Ginny, patting her forearm lightly as she took a seat next to her on the settee. "Ginny..."

"I know what you're going to say," the redhead cut in quickly, eyes averted. "And I know it doesn't make any sense. Draco's... gone, and I shouldn't waste my life pining for him, but it just doesn't seem right." She glanced at Hermione, her wide eyes imploring her to understand. "At least not with Malcolm."

Hermione squeezed her arm. "Okay," she said. She wasn't in any position to give relationship advice. "What will you tell him?"

"The truth," Ginny said softly. "That I don't love him. Can we..." she hesitated, then plunged on, "Can we stay with you and Alice? Just until we find our own place?"

"Of course," Hermione replied.

"Excuse me, but does this animal belong to either of you ladies?"

Hermione shifted her head up to see Zabini framed in his doorway, Dante nestled comfortably in his arms. She opened her mouth to berate him for his lack of manners - animal, indeed - when Ginny chuckled and hopped up from her seat.

"He wasn't bothering you, was he?" she asked as the boy meowed loudly and cried, "I'm a kitty, Mommy."

"Not at all," Zabini said with a genuine grin.

Hermione was horrified to feel a spurt of jealousy rush through her.

"Don't scratch the nice man, sweetheart," Ginny said, reaching out and hefting the small boy out of his arms. Cocking her head to the side, she questioned, "Have we met before? You look... familiar."

Zabini shot Hermione a surprised glance before shaking his head politely. "I don't believe so. I'm Granger's new partner, Tynan Cross."

She smiled brightly at him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cross. I'm Ginny Weasley, and this ball of energy is my son, Dante."

"Pleasure," Zabini practically purred.

What was wrong with the man? Hermione bit back a territorial snarl and realized with a start that there wasn't so much wrong with him, as there was with her.

"Well," Ginny shifted her gaze to Hermione, "I should be off. Are you sure it's okay if Dante and I stay with you?"

"Positive. Don't worry about it at all," she insisted. "Alice and I would love the company."

"Well, if you're absolutely sure," she gave her a relieved smile. Saying goodbye, she placed the sturdy boy on the ground and coaxed him out of the offices with empty promises of ice cream. Hermione knew from experience that the kid would be dead on his feet within ten minutes. His eyes had already been drooping tiredly as he'd clung to his mother's hand.

"So," Zabini drawled as the door shut behind Ginny, "keeping secrets from the little Weasley?"

She arched a brow and moved towards her office. "I'm not exactly spreading the word around, if that's what you mean. Kind of defeats the purpose. Although I suppose she'll know eventually since I live with the biggest gossip this side of London."

He was strangely quiet as he followed her into her office, and Hermione glanced at him nervously. "Something wrong?"

Finally, he asked in a low voice, "Does he know?"

"What?"

"Malfoy. Did he know?" he asked again, clearly agitated now, his cool veneer scrubbed almost entirely away.

Taken aback by his open face, she took a moment before replying. "I'm not sure. It... it was around the same time when she found out," she offered gently. "I never asked."

It had been nearly six years ago, and she hadn't even thought Zabini'd been around then, when Malfoy's remains had been found buried in the charred shell of Malfoy Manor. From his pained expression, though, she suspected he'd been rather close to his fellow pureblood.

Nodding his head thoughtfully, he said, "Thanks," simultaneously turning to walk from the room.

"I suppose you were close?" she asked curiously, then could have happily hexed her foot off as he stopped and gave her a slow, calculating stare.

"You could say that."

******

"Blaise Zabini," Ginny announced from her position on the floor, with all the enthusiasm of a 'eureka!' She'd arrived only an hour earlier, an already sound asleep little boy in her arms, in a surprisingly good mood.

"What?"

"Zabini," she repeated, giving Hermione a smug look. "I knew he looked familiar. Blaise Zabini..." She trailed off thoughtfully, tapping a finger to her chin, then said pointedly, "You used to be in love with him."

Hermione let out an exasperated breath. "I was not in love with him."

"Tell me, then," she shifted up onto her knees, "why he's posing as your partner?"

"Blackmail," she muttered.

"Blackmail," Ginny echoed in disbelief. "This from the girl who told Draco she'd hex off his balls when he threatened to reveal her love for a certain raven-haired Slytherin to the entire school? And what did he want you to do? All his homework in Charms for the rest of the term?

"Doesn't count," Hermione bit out irritably. "He would have been spreading a lie, since I wasn't in love."

Ginny curved her lips up in amusement. "You're attracted to him, at least."

"Who wouldn't be?" Hermione rubbed her forehead, an affectation she'd picked up from Harry over the years. "He's so..."

"Dreamy," Ginny finished for her with a giggle.

Hermione threw a pillow at her.

Alice suddenly appeared, stumbling out of the fireplace, coughing lightly from the ash and dust. "Pillow fight?"

Hermione shook her head. "Date with Colin again?"

"Nope," she grinned widely. "Harry."

"What?" Ginny rushed out. She quickly scrambled to her feet and pulled Alice over to the couch. "Spill."

Alice's grin widened and her dark eyes sparkled with happiness. "Merlin, I'm in love."

"See," Ginny turned to Hermione, "it's easy to admit it."

"I don't even like Zabini," Hermione cried.

"Oh, come on, Hermione." Alice rolled her eyes. "You're infatuated with the man."

"We were talking about you and Harry," Hermione pointed out.

A dreamy expression softened Alice's face. "He showed up at the office right after you left and I asked him to dinner."

"You asked him?" Hermione queried, eyes wide.

Alice gave her a tolerant smirk. "It's not that odd an occurrence these days, Hermione."

"Yes, but Harry's always been turned off by aggressive women," Ginny interjected.

"And you would know," Hermione teased, recalling her seventh year when Ginny did everything but dance around naked to get the boy's attention.

The redhead ignored her and went on, "He just doesn't like being chased... what with the fan girls and all."

"Well," Alice huffed, "he didn't seem to mind me in the least." She leant back into the pillows of the couch. "I think he's amused by me."

"I think he has no idea what to do with you," Hermione said.

Alice's lips tipped up slyly. "He certainly knew what to do with me tonight."

Ginny laughed. "You hussy!"

"And he kissed me," she clarified grandly.

"At least one of us got what we wanted, then," Ginny commented, pulling a pillow to her stomach and hugging her arms around it.

"Now, I hope I can count on you, Ginny," Alice said conspiratorially, "to tell me all about Hermione here and Mr. Z in their school days."

Ginny's eyes lit up and Hermione groaned.

"The thing is," Ginny started with relish, "is that Zabini was more of a background character than anything else. Not necessarily a wallflower, you understand--"

"Not a wallflower at all, you mean," Hermione grumbled.

Ginny sent her a quelling look, and then turned back to Alice. "He was observant," she elaborated. "Like a predatory cat stalking his quarry."

"Which happened to be Hermione?" Alice asked hopefully, leaning forward in anticipation.

"No," Hermione growled and sunk further into the couch. She was not enjoying herself one little bit.

Ginny shook her head. "Would definitely make for a more romantic tale if he'd had any sort of interest in her."

Alice threw Hermione a fleeting glance of sympathy before urging Ginny to continue.

"I just love how you're both reveling in my humiliation," Hermione muttered to herself.

"Now, Hermione's brilliant," Ginny went on, warming to her story, "but book smarts really don't add up to anything in the face of a human god."

"If you're going to tell the story, then you might as well tell it right," Hermione interrupted again.

"Well, then you tell it."

Hermione scowled at her friend, but jumped up off the sofa and paced to the front of the hearth and back again. Finally, she pulled a pillow onto the floor and sat down cross-legged, facing the two younger women. "It all started on a sticky hot day at the lake--"

"Where all juicy stories should start," Ginny cut in.

"Are you going to let me tell it?"

"Yes."

"You'll be quiet now?" she clarified.

Ginny pantomimed zipping her mouth shut and nodded.

Hermione cleared her throat and began again. "It all started at the lake..."

Hermione hardly ever napped. Napping was for people who didn't have anything better to do and Hermione, by conscious choice, kept her idle time to a bare minimum. Still, the sun was warm and the air was heavy and humid and she found herself drifting off, propped up against an old oak by the lake, her Arithmancy notes spread around her.

In the distance, she could hear shouts and laughter and splashing and she yawned and settled deeper into sleep, her dreams filled with summer memories.

When she woke, the sun was low in the sky, burning red and streaking orange and pinks across the horizon. She must have been asleep for a good long while, but she could only muster a tiny bit of concern at her wasted hours. She couldn't help but acknowledge how relaxed she felt and how her body had obviously needed the reprieve.

It was cooler, but only by a few degrees, the fall season hotter than she could ever recall one being before. It was mid-September and she was sweating in the shade.

The water rippled and lapped onto the lakeshore in front of her, and she glanced up, expecting to see the giant squid, perhaps waving a tentacle or looking curiously at her with a beady black eye.

What she saw, though, startled her into a gasp. A boy, a very naked boy, was rising out of the lake. Water snaked down his body, his blue-black hair fell forward in a dripping mass, and the late afternoon sun touched his golden brown skin, shadowing half his body, winking in and out of his left elbow as he moved forward.

He must have heard her soft indrawn breath, as he paused mid-stride, ankle deep in the warm shallows. He lifted an arm, slicking his hair back from his face to scan the lakeshore, and she realized it was Blaise Zabini, Slytherin's resident dark horse.

For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming. Not that she'd ever really even thought of the quiet dark-haired boy before, but surely students didn't skinny-dip in the middle of the day? Surely sixteen-year-old boys didn't look like that?

Her eyes traveled over his smooth, nearly hairless chest, down past his flat stomach and lightly delineated muscles. A long silver-white scar marred his hipbone, curving down into the thatch of--

"Granger."

Hermione's head snapped up to his face, flushed and breathing hard, the curls that had slipped out of her loose bun sticking to her forehead and cheeks.

His stance was relaxed, obviously not overly concerned that she'd caught him completely starkers. Placing a hand on his hip, he arched an eyebrow, seemingly waiting for her to say something. Although what he could possibly want her to say, given the situation, she had absolutely no clue. 'Put some clothes on,' perhaps? She might have been embarrassed beyond belief, but if he didn't have any problems with his nakedness, she certainly wasn't going to argue with him about it.

Her eyes, of their own accord, drifted south again, following the curve of his bicep and forearm and lingering at his long-fingered hand, his index finger lying directly over the slightly puckered scar.

"Granger," he said again, only this time she didn't bother to raise her gaze, watching his finger tap rhythmically against his damp skin. "You may be a know-it-all Gryffindor, but even I have my limits."

"What?" she asked absently.

"Stare at me like that any longer and I won't be responsible for my actions."

Her mouth went bone-dry and she swallowed a squeak, the distinctly male part of him stirring under her intense gaze. Oh. Dear.

Eyes flying to his face again, she watched his mouth curve up in a wicked smirk, his eyes even lighter with perverse amusement. Tearing her gaze from him completely, she muttered, "Well, you could put some clothes on, couldn't you?" even though she wasn't entirely sure he could even hear her dry, raspy words.

He chuckled and while she attempted to transfer her fascination onto a patch of onion grass, she couldn't help but watch him from the corner of her eye as he stalked closer.

"Uncomfortable, Granger?" he asked.

She managed a snort and narrowed her eyes at an ant making its way to the top of a green stem. Sending him surreptitious glances as he settled his naked form onto her discarded school robes, the thought, I'm never washing those again, briefly flitted through her mind before she stamped it out with self-disgust.

Trying her very best to act perfectly normal, as he was obviously determined to goad her into the highest amount of embarrassment possible, she asked in a stiff tone, "What do you think you're doing, Zabini, brandishing about publicly naked in the middle of the day?"

"It's dinner hour," he explained, raking his fingers through his rapidly drying hair, "and in a school full of ravenous teenagers, it's possibly the safest time to be out and about, naked as a jay, enjoying a nice dip in the lake."

Hermione stared at him incredulously. It was probably the most she'd ever heard the boy say to anybody, in or out of class.

"Of course," he continued, "I didn't count on over-studious Gryffindors making use of the grounds as well." He flicked a corner of her Arithmancy text, a hint of derision in his sneer.

For the first time in all her years, she found herself slightly ashamed of her bookworm status. Clearing her throat, she said primly, "I fell asleep."

"You fell asleep?" He arched a brow and she had to wonder if Snape taught those sorts of things - the requisite smirk, scowl and imperious brow - to all Slytherin first years. It certainly wouldn't surprise her in the least if he actually did.

"Yes," she replied, then tacked on hastily, "I wasn't spying on you or anything."

"Didn't say you were," he said, eyeing her curiously.

"Well," she huffed, "just so we're clear on that. I've been napping all afternoon."

He stared at her silently, a mocking tilt to his head.

"Yes, well..." she trailed off as he leaned forward to grab a blade of grass, his back bending gracefully. She bit her lip and clenched her hand into a tight fist, resisting the urge to run her fingertips down the length of his spine. He shot her a knowing glance over his shoulder and she grimaced. "Could you please put something on?"

He looked down at himself, then over to Hermione. "I'm not quite dry yet."

"And...?" Alice prompted impatiently.

"And I sat there next to a naked Zabini until the sun set completely from the sky. It was all terribly romantic," Hermione cracked sarcastically.

Ginny giggled and Hermione sent her a scathing glare.

"After that, I couldn't seem to get away from him. It wasn't as though he was doing it on purpose. He'd always been in a great deal of my classes. He'd always sat directly across the Hall from me at meals. He'd always been lurking about somewhere or other, but I'd never really noticed him before. And once I had..."

"Seen him starkers," Ginny interjected happily.

Hermione nodded. "I couldn't stop--"

"Picturing him naked?" Alice suggested.

"I couldn't stop noticing him," Hermione amended, although all three women knew Alice had been spot on - a naked Blaise Zabini, even at sixteen, wasn't something one easily forgot. "Every little thing about him. It never had anything to do with love."

"Well," Alice commented after a moment, "I must say that this explains a lot."

"It does?" Hermione asked, brow raised quizzically.

Alice grinned slyly at her. "You're still picturing him naked whenever he's near, aren't you?"